


Folie a Deux

by sammustdie



Category: My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:22:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 159,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammustdie/pseuds/sammustdie
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One - Gerard's POV  
The back of his head caught my attention almost instantly. You can tell a lot about a person from the back of their head. You could tell more from the front, of course, but the back of the head carried a lot of secrets. It was the one part of your body that you never saw, unless someone held a mirror for you. It was a very raw, pure part of the body. You could never control how it looked, you couldn't see for yourself what it looked like. It was, often, the only truthful part of a person's body.

His hair was completely unruly. It was tangled and greasy, and reminded me a bit of my own, but black instead of bright red. He sat with his shoulders slumped, his elbows on the table. I couldn't see exactly where his hands were, but every few seconds I would see the tips of his fingers poke through the hair behind his ear, like he was playing with his hair.

He looked... Tired. Tired and sad and very much alone.

"Can I start you off with some coffee, sir?"

I glanced up at the waitress, blinking a few times in surprise. I had not noticed her approach me. "Sure." She smiled so I returned the gesture. "Thanks."

The waitress moved on and I found myself looking back at the boy. He was sitting up now, looking over as the waitress approached him.

"Done with your soup, Frank?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy- Frank- said quietly, scooting his bowl towards her. I watched as she took the bowl, eyeing him carefully.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

I'd never met the boy before in my life, and I could already tell that he was lying. The way his shoulders curved, tired and worn out, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he ran his hand through his hair again, all gave it away. He was much more than just tired.

"Oh. Well... If you need anything, just let me know."

"Thanks, I'll be sure to."

She walked off, leaving him sitting there in a quiet, peaceful air of sadness. I could almost feel the emotion from where I sat. I could sense the despair and the worry from here.

He let out a sigh, running his fingers back through his hair, twisting a few of the black strands tightly around his fingers, and then let them go, not really seeming to care where they fell.

"That's really bad for your hair, you know," I commented, wrinkling my nose.

The boy turned to look at me, surprised.

He was about my age, maybe a year or so younger, and had the most amazing eyes ever.

I gave him a slight half-smile, flicking my hair out of my face.

"What?" he asked, staring at me.

"The twisting isn't healthy," I explained. Sometimes I felt like I knew far too much about hair for my own good. All it was was a bunch of strands of dead cells, anyways. "It's like twisting the stem of a flower."

"Oh." He blinked rapidly. "Um- thanks, I guess."

I winked at him, grinning. "No problem, kid."

His eyes went slightly wide as he turned back around and I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

The waitress came back with my coffee, but before she could sit it down, I stood up. "Do you think maybe I could sit with that boy?" I asked quietly, waving vaguely at Frank.

She giggled, grinning and nodding. "Sure."

We moved over to his table and I sat across from him in the booth as the waitress sat my coffee in front of me. "Thanks," I said, sending her a thankful smile.

"No problem," she grinned, glancing between Frank and I.

Frank looked up at the waitress, lips parted slightly in confusion, and she just smiled at him. "Wha- I mean..." He turned his head back to me, eyes going wide.

I just laughed, lifting my coffee mug with both hands and taking a sip. "Hi," I said, offering a small smile.

He just stared at me, looking surprised, like he had expected me to kill him, instead of just drinking my coffee. "Hello."

I took another sip of my coffee and flicked a few of the long, messy strands of hair out of my face. I couldn't bring myself to break eye contact. He was too handsome a person to break eye contact with. "What's your name?" I asked after a few seconds of just looking at him. I already knew, of course, but asking was the polite thing to do.

He blinked a few times, startled. "What?"

"Your name," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. I didn't like repeating myself. "What is it?"

His eyes went wide, like he couldn't understand how he had misunderstood such a simple question. "Why do you want to know?"

I shrugged with one shoulder, raising my mug to my lips and taking a long sip to hold back the sarcastic reply that desperately wanted to escape. "Because I need a name to go with your face. Now, are you going to tell me, or am I wasting my time talking to you?"

"Frank," he said after a moment's hesitation. "My name is Frank Iero."

"Nice to meet you, Frank Iero." I sat my mug on the table and leaned back in the booth, folding my arms over my chest, smiling a bit. "I'm Gerard... Gerard Way. The baddest bitch you'll ever meet."

And then I winked at him again.

He just looked at me, eyes wide.

He seemed to like making eye contact, and I wasn't about to argue. He had amazing eyes. I was quite intrigued by the hazel irises. They were both outlined with dark, dark brown on the outside, but were then all green, with a light brown color sloppily outlining his pupils. That brown faded out into the green, almost like a single, muddy rain droplet had fallen onto a green sheet of paper and then spread outwards.

His eyes were natural watercolor paintings.

"What do you want from me?" he said after a few seconds.

"Nothing," I said simply, taking a sip of my coffee, clutching the mug with one hand, holding it close to my chest. I took my time, letting the coffee sit in my mouth, letting the flavor linger. Coffee was one of my favorite things in the world, and I loved just letting the flavor sit in my mouth. "Why?" I said, after I swallowed the coffee. "Do you expect me to want something from you?"

"Not exactly, but-"

"Then why would you ask that?"

He seemed to freeze up, not having an answer.

"Frank?" I said, testing his name out on my lips for the first time. I liked the sound of it, short and stark and taking my full attention to pronounce. It was one of those names that made your entire mouth move, like kissing. I liked how my front teeth touched the inside of my bottom lip as I pronounced the "Fr," and I liked how the "an" tensed up in the back of my throat. I liked the way it snapped at the end, the "k" clicking the word closed, like a well-read book, and I liked the way it tasted, too. I liked the way the air felt on my tongue, escaping my mouth quickly through my teeth with the first half of the word, and then slipping out slightly more unnoticed with the rest of it.

All in all, it was a nice name. A name I liked saying. A name that I wanted to say over and over again until it became a subconscious thing in the back of my mind. I wanted that name to come as easily to my lips as breathing did.

There were so many words that I had to think about before I said them, but I didn't want his name to ever be one of those words. I have an over-active mind sometimes- I even have to stop and evaluate the way my own name sounds and feels in my throat before I let it all escape- but there were some words that came out without a second thought.

'Coffee,' for example, slipped out easily. The word 'love.' 'Pain,' I suppose, was an easy thing to say, as well. 'Music.' 'Art.' 'Death.'

They all fell out of my mouth easily. They weren't things I had to think about because they were a second nature to me.

I wanted Frank's name to be like that.

I wanted Frank's name to be up in my head and deep in my mind with coffee and love and pain and art and music and death.

"Frank," I said again.

"What?" he snapped.

"Why would you ask that," I repeated quietly, "if you didn't expect me to want something?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, if you don't know, why would you ask?"

"I don't know! Just tell me why you're sitting here!" he shouted, frustrated.

I raised my hands, mocking innocence. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, I didn't invite you to sit with me! You don't just approach random strangers and sit with them like that. I'm leaving."

I looked down at my coffee, sighing at the loss of what could have been an interesting conversation. "Then leave, Frank. Go on and just leave me here."

He didn't though. I glanced up at him to see him looking at me again.

"Go on," I said. "Leave, if you must."

He didn't, though. He was letting out a slow breath instead. He made no moves to stand up.

"Why were you eating all by yourself?" I asked quietly, realizing that he was going to stay.

He let out a soft sigh. "Because I wanted to..."

"Okay, but why? Why didn't you invite your friends? Or your family?"

"Because I like being alone, okay?" He kept his voice quiet but he did sound thoroughly annoyed. "Is that enough for you?"

I gave a small, half smile, in a lame attempt to comfort him. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"What about you?" he countered. "Why were you eating alone?"

I looked down, taking another sip from my coffee mug. "I like people watching," I explained. I always hated admitting that. So many people called it a strange hobby. "If there had been someone sitting with me, they would have wanted my full attention, and my full attention isn't something that I give sparingly."

He paused for a second, letting the thought sink in. "Then why the hell are you giving me your full attention?"

I laughed, tossing my head back and sending my hair flopping over my shoulders. "I'm not giving you my full attention, Frank. I have a million things on my mind right now, and you're just a stranger at a coffee shop who looked lonely. You're the least of my concerns."

It wasn't true though. He was very much my concern. He was flooding my mind right now, and it was frightening me. I speak to many people during my people watching trips, but not many managed to catch my eye like he had. Most people I just smiled at, I just said a couple of words to. Sometimes I'd strike up a conversation.

I'd never been so intrigued by someone, though. I had never wanted to get to know someone more than I did Frank. I'd never wanted to remember someone like I did him. I didn't want to memorize the sound of their voice or learn to read their expressions. I didn't want to know why they looked so sad, I didn't want their names sticking in the back of my head. But I did want that with Frank. I really, honestly did.

We both fell silent and I looked at him, resting my chin on one hand and my elbow on the table.

I felt my eyes searching his face, wondering what it was, exactly, that was making me feel so drawn to him.

He looked at the table, his hands, across the room, everywhere, everywhere but me, and something about that bothered me. Did he not like being looked at?

Something buzzed and he swung his head in my direction, eyes wide. I laughed, rolling my eyes and pulling out my cellphone.

"It's just a text message, Frank. Calm down."

"S-sorry," he said, blinking rapidly as I flipped my phone open. "It just..."

"Scared you?"

He nodded and I did, too.

"Paranoia is a shitty thing, isn't it?" I sighed, looking down.

"Paranoia? What?"

I looked up, meeting his round, beautiful brown-green eyes.

That was the wrong thing to say.

I should have known better.

I didn't want to scare him off.

"Frank, calm down," I said quietly. "I just recognized the symptoms, I'm sorry. I have really severe anxiety and paranoia sometimes, too. I don't know what triggers it, or- or why... I just... I'm sorry."

He nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, sorry."

He looked very on edge all of a sudden, though. He looked nervous. Jittery.

I looked down at my phone slowly, sighing as I scanned my eyes over the text message.

"It's my brother," I said, putting the phone back into my pocket. "My mom wants me to come home."

"Oh." He looked both disappointed and relieved. "O-okay."

I didn't move, though, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Are you-?"

"I haven't finished my coffee yet," I shrugged.

"Oh."

I tipped my head back, draining the last few drops.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, as I sat the mug back down.

I tilted my head to the side, eyebrows coming together in confusion. "For what?"

"For being rude, earlier."

I grinned at him. "It's okay. I'd be a little weirded out if someone approached me like that, too. You just looked like you were having a bad day."

"I was," he said simply, nodding. "Thanks for this. Really. It definitely made my day a little more interesting."

"No problem," I said, standing up.

I turned from the booth, not knowing what else to say.

I didn't want to leave the conversation like that, though. I didn't want it to end there.

"Hey, Frank?" I said, turning back around.

He looked up, blinking in surprise. "Yeah?"

I put my hands in my back pockets, shifting from foot to foot, not sure how to word the question. "Same time, tomorrow?" I said eventually.

"I- uh- I don't know..."

I looked at my feet. I knew I shouldn't have asked. It was such a stupid question.

"Sure."

I looked up, lips parting in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "I don't see why not."

I felt a slow smile spread my lips. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

He smiled back. "Okay. Tomorrow, then."

"Bye, Frank."

"Bye, Gerard."

My name sounded almost as beautiful coming from his lips as his name tasted on mine.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Frank's POV  
I don't know how long I sat there after Gerard left. I would like to say it was only five minutes, but I'm ashamed to admit that it was probably about an hour before I left the diner.

I was just really confused.

I sat there forever just trying to figure out what I had agreed to- meeting him here tomorrow, at five. Same time as today. The rest of the time was spent wondering what on earth had actually just happened.

I'd had a bad day, I knew that much. The people at my school weren't exactly the kindest, and the lockers aren't exactly the most comfortable things to be slammed into, either.

Something about that boy, though... Something about Gerard just comforted me a bit. If he could be so happy and outgoing, why couldn't I?

"Frank?" Sandra, the waitress, asked, making me jump. "Would you like something to drink?"

I shook my head, trying to shake away the surprise. "N-no. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well, call me if you need anything..."

"I will."

She walked away and I turned my gaze almost automatically to the door, the last place I had seen the bright bob of unnaturally red hair.

"I'm not giving you my full attention, Frank. I have a million things on my mind right now, and you're just a stranger at a coffee shop who looked lonely. You're the least of my concerns."

It didn't seem to me like I was the "least of his concerns." He seemed to be extremely focused on me, especially for having just met me for the first time.

Or maybe he was just a good multitask-er. I wouldn't know, because I had never been one. I'd proved that this morning when I tried to balance my school books while walking away from the kids who liked to call me names.

I was vaguely aware of the fact that it had started to rain outside, a light mist fogging the restaurant windows and blurring my vision of the outside world. I both liked and disliked the fog- I liked how it hid me from the rest of society, but I hated how it clouded my interpretations of the people and places around me.

I decided that I should try to get home before it started raining too hard... And before my mom freaked out and called the cops. And before the kids on my block realized that I wasn't home yet and started waiting at the corner of the street for me.

No, then my mom would definitely have to call the cops. I could almost see the news articles in my head... "Local teen boy, found beat up and crying on the corner of Pamlin and Lancer streets, attacked by teens from his neighborhood. No weapons were found at the scene of the crime, so it is believed that it was a fistfight gone completely bad. Boy suffers from both severe physical and emotional damage."

I could almost see myself laying on the street corner, black-eyed and bloody-nosed, sobbing and screaming and hurting more on the inside than out.

It was a fairly easy image to conjure, considering it had happened before. I'd never made news headlines, but I figured eventually I would...

I mean, one day they would beat me to the point of death, and then of course people would have to notice, right?

No one ever cares unless you're famous or dead.

One day I think I'll just stop fighting back. One day I'll have enough of the kids who beat me up and I'll just let it happen.

I stood up and left Sandra's tip on the counter as well as the money for my soup, nodded a quick goodbye, and then headed out the door, ready for the dreaded walk home.

My mom hated when I left for more than a few hours at a time, and she was probably standing by the door waiting for my arrival. She was convinced that one day I would leave and never come back... Something I was actually beginning to consider. If I never came back I'd never have to deal with her or with the kids who waited on the corner for me.

If I ran away and never looked back, I'd be ten times better off alone than where I was now. Sometimes I think that daily life can drive you to insanity. Taking a break just felt so nice sometimes... And hadn't Gerard just proved that? Meeting him and experiencing that admittedly weird conversation almost made up for being shoved against the lockers this morning and being called words that I'd never even heard before.

My fingers popped up my hood and then curled into my jacket pockets, a subconscious habit that I had had for quite some time now. I didn't know why but having a fist curled up, ready to punch in case of danger, made me feel a little safer.

I glanced both ways before crossing the street, focusing on the sound of my footsteps, trying to to figure out if that echo was someone behind me or if it was just my own footsteps bouncing back through the air.

When I got to the other side I felt a sense of nausea sweep over me. What if those footsteps hadn't been the echo of mine? What if someone was behind me?

Before I knew what was happening I was across the road and standing with my back against a wall, breaths coming out a million times too fast and my heartbeat pounding. I could hear the blood flowing in my ears.

I couldn't stop the "what if?" questions racing through my head.

What if there was someone behind me? What if they were one of the kids from my neighborhood? What if it was someone from school? But... But what if it wasn't? What if... What if it were someone- or something- worse?

I glanced both ways down the street and across the road. I could see through the windows of the diner- Rockin' Comet, it was called- and through to Sandra. She was putting dishes in a bin to take to whichever employee had dish-washing duty. She didn't look up, she wasn't staring across the street... She would have known if something bad had happened. Sandra was a trustable person, she would have heard if something was going on outside.

Sandra would have known and she would be panicking, calling out to me, warning me.

She wasn't though, so I was safe. Nothing was wrong.

I took a few deep breaths, assessing the situation. I was at the corner of the road, with my back to a brick wall, the awning protecting me from the late autumn rain. I found myself looking up and over at the signs of the little row of shops that I was next to. I had passed the signs all the time, but I'd never really stopped to read the names... How was it possible that I knew so little about my surroundings? What if I had to hide from something? I could've been in danger and not have known where to go!

Why have I never bothered to go into any of these stores?

I made a mental note to myself that I would have to check out the stores tomorrow after lunch.

I felt my chest weigh itself down a bit as I started my journey home, picking my way down the street and keeping my fingers curled tight in my pockets.

I couldn't help but think of all of the stupid rules my mom had and how I was probably breaking at least three of them at this very moment... There were so many pointless rules that she created, and I'm almost positive that most of them were made only to lower my self-esteem.

There was absolutely no eating after nine o' clock- don't want me getting any fatter, now do we?

And there was never any chance of me staying up past ten- don't want me getting any more tired, right? I'm already as drowsy and slow enough as it is?

Oh, and of course, no fun until my homework is compete- there shouldn't be a chance of me getting any more stupid than I already am, according to my mom!

And then there were the arguments over my diet...

My mother hated the fact I was vegetarian.

She hated the fact that I had a C average in school.

She hated the fact that I owned a guitar.

She hated the fact that every Friday I went to the diner just to get away from her and the kids in our neighborhood and from the pictures of my dad for a few hours.

She hated me, and everything I did, and tried to change just about everything about me.

It was always, "I hate how you cut the fingers off of your gloves, Frank... But here, let me buy you some new ones!" New ones? New ones that I'll never use, that is.

Or, "I hate how you wear your hair, let me take you to the barber shop!" And I'll always just change it back to something I like as soon as I can.

Sometimes it was, "I hate how you dress so sloppily, let me buy you some new clothes!" Which will only end up in a pile at the foot of my bed... Like always.

And she was always complaining about my music, too. "I hate how you listen to such loud and violent music, let me introduce you to some classical music!" You mean music that will put me to sleep in about five minutes? How about no?

And the one topic she always managed to squeeze in... "I hate how you're so anti-social, let me introduce you to some friends!"

And increase my social anxiety problems...? Thanks, mother.

Sometimes I really hate you, too.

Glad to see that the feeling is mutual.

\---

"Yo, Frankie!"

I felt myself cringe away from the nickname. "Hello, Ross."

He fell in step next to me and even though he was all that I could see him from the corner of my eye, I kept my gaze focused on the street in front of me.

"You're getting home awfully late, kid. Where ya' been? On a date?" He laughed at his own joke for a few seconds. "Never mind, don't answer that."

"I was at the diner," I spat, glaring at Ross.

Ross was the kind of kid everyone liked but everyone hated. He was tall, smart, good looking, but a total ass to be around for more than a few hours.

He wasn't exactly the most physical when it came to hurting me. No, no Ross was the one out of his little gang of friends who knew how to get under my skin.

"Again?" he snickered. "What, do they support fag rights there, or something?"

"Go away, Ross."

"Come on, it's okay if you're still in the closet. I won't tell anyone."

"You're an ass."

"Oh, you don't mean that... I mean, you've seen enough of guys asses to know that I'm not one."

I stopped walking and spun to face him. "Why don't you just leave me alone, jerkwad? You know I'm not gay. I had a girlfriend last summer."

Ross snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah and she dumped you for that Mike kid, remember? Mike Pedicone or whatever his last name is... And she told everyone all about how your dad ran away from your family the second you were born, Iero. Your dad was a coward."

I felt my heart sink. "Just leave me alone," I said again, my heart cracking.

"He was a coward," Ross sneered again. "And like father, like son. You'll never be anything but a coward. You spend all of your time cooped up in your house with that stupid guitar of yours. I bet you can't even get through a scale without screwing up. You'll never be anything but a screw-up and a coward..."

I started walking away, feeling my fists curl in my pockets.

"I bet you were with a guy!" Ross called. "Weren't you? You met some boy and that's why you took so long! Fucking faggot!"

I was running away, by now.

\---

"Where have you been?"

I had barely shut the door behind me before I felt myself cringe away from her voice. It was just as unwelcoming as Ross's. "Out," I responded.

I dropped my jacket on the front table and started making my way into my house, putting my hands in my back pockets and hoping she wouldn't notice the both the guilt and the annoyance that was quite obviously radiating from me.

"Out where?"

"The diner."

"Again?"

I stopped walking even though I couldn't bring myself to turn around. "Yes, mom." My voice cracked slightly. "Again."

"Were you with anyone?"

I felt myself falter. "No," I said, choking on the word.

I wasn't with anyone. Gerard wasn't anyone. He was just a stranger in a restaurant.

She caught the pause, though, and acted on it immediately. Sometimes I hated how well she could read me. "Are you sure?"

"No," I whispered, turning to face her.

She stood in the hall by the kitchen door, arms crossed, black hair strewn up in a messy bun and green eyes narrowed. "Then who were you with?"

"A friend."

"Boy or girl?"

Boy or girl? Did it matter? Like she always reminded me, I'd never get another girlfriend. I couldn't see why she was so concerned.

It wasn't like I had spent my Friday afternoon skipping school and getting random girls pregnant, or something.

I wasn't like Ross or even any of the other kids at my school. I didn't have friends. No one had ever cared enough to waste away a Friday afternoon with me.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," she said instantly.

Damn. I had made her suspicious, now.

I let out a slow breath, dragging my hand through my hair. "I was with a boy. I don't know him or anything though, so you probably wouldn't, either. I just met him today."

There was a pause and she curled her already clenched hands a little tighter. "What type of person is he, then? Is he a bad influence?"

She was just annoying me, now. "Mom, I don't really know. I talked to him for maybe five minutes and then he left."

We'd spent five minutes talking, and I'd spent nearly an hour trying to comprehend the conversation... I couldn't help but wonder if he had thought about our conversation, too. If he had gone home and sat there staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out who I was and what type of person I was and wondering what we would talk about tomorrow during lunch.

"So are you and this boy friends?"

I shrugged, not really sure and not really caring. "Like I said, we just met. We're meeting up tomorrow."

"Where?"

"The diner."

She tilted her head back slightly, sighing. "Frank Iero I swear to god if this kid turns out to be some type of rapist or serial killer or something, I will kill you if he doesn't. And then I will burn your corpse."

"Gee, mom. Thanks."

Rapist? How the fuck would that even work out? But she said the exact same thing every time I made a new friend... Seeing as I rarely made friends, this was only the third or fourth time she'd done it, but still...

\---

He was late.

"Hi, Frank," he said, slipping into the booth across from me. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay," I said. "I didn't even notice," I lied.

He tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly as he slipped off his dark gray jacket, setting it in the seat next to him. "Are you sure?" He ran his hand through his bright red hair, letting out an unsure breath.

"It's fine, Gerard. Really."

He studied my face for a second and then decided that I must have been telling the truth. "How are you today?"

I shrugged, looking down at the table. "Okay. You?"

He laughed and I looked up as he rubbed his cheek a bit, one side of his smile higher than the other. "To be honest, I'm pretty fucking tired."

"What, did you not sleep, or something?"

He shrugged, dropping his hand to the table. I couldn't see his other hand, but I could tell that he was probably picking at his jeans or pulling at a string on his shirt. He looked like he was trying to occupy his mind. "You could say that." I noticed vaguely that when he spoke, he spoke from one side of his mouth. "My grandma passed away last night... I didn't really get any sleep at all."

My eyes went wide. "Gerard! Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Why the hell did you come today?"

He shrugged, offering another tired, apologetic smile. "I didn't want you to think I stood you up, or something."

"But-"

"But nothing. It's fine."

I sighed, shifting awkwardly in my seat. It most definitely was not fine. "W- were you and your grandma close?"

His face went still and when he spoke and he kept his voice extremely quiet. "Yeah."

"Oh, God, Gerard, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be," he muttered. He ran one hand through his firetruck red hair again, closing his eyes for a few seconds and just sitting there, sighing. "It couldn't be helped. I mean, we all die eventually. It's in the human nature to die. I guess her internal clock just stopped ticking."

I still couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He shouldn't be here with me. He should be with his family.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "Really."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

"But you shouldn't have come!"

"But I did! And that's that. It can't be helped now."

I huffed, looking down at the table.

We were both silent for a few seconds.

From the corner of my eyes I watched as he rested his head on one hand, looking at me. "Thank you," he said quietly, his face blank.

"For what?" I asked, not looking at him.

"Meeting me here."

I looked up, blinking in surprise. "You're welcome...?"

He offered a small, sad smile. "If I hadn't come here I would have been at home alone with my brother. I mean, I love the kid and everything but... Sometimes I need to mourn alone."

I wanted to ask how on earth being with me was being alone, but I kind of understood. He just needed some time away from the family.

"I understand," I said, nodding. "I'm... I'm glad you're doing okay, though."

He nodded back. "It's nice to get out and take my mind off of things every once in a while. My grandmother... She had been ill for a while... And I guess I just need to get away from the memories."

I offered him a small smile. "I'm always here if you need to talk."

He smiled back. "Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Gerard's POV  
I didn't feel like talking, though. I just wanted to occupy my mind, and being here with Frank was definitely doing that.

He was a very easy person to be distracted by. I swear I could spend an hour studying his eyes alone.

Frank didn't seem to mind, which made the whole experience a thousand times better. Most people would have tried to comfort a grieving friend, but I wasn't a friend, at least not yet, and Frank certainly was not "most people."

Our conversation slowly died out shortly after we ordered our food- Frank getting a salad, and I a coffee.

"Just a coffee?" he frowned after we ordered. "Is that all?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He blinked back, rapidly. "All you're having is a coffee?

"Yes."

He stared at me for a few moments and I felt the overwhelming need to defend myself.

"I'm just not hungry, okay?"

He gave me a skeptical look but didn't press the topic, and for that I was thankful.

I just wasn't that hungry.

I'd had some pancakes that morning, and even though it was just a few hours away from dinner time... I didn't want anything to eat. In fact, the thought of food was making me sick to the stomach.

We sat in silence for quite some time. An hour and sixteen minutes, to be exact.

Just the two of us, sitting there, for seventy-six minutes in complete silence.

It was nice.

I found myself looking at him, his hands, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him. I watched from the corner of my eyes as he ate and I studied the way he glanced up nervously when he thought he'd done something stupid, like when he accidentally dropped a piece of lettuce onto his lap or when he accidentally flicked a carrot off of his plate when he tried to stab it with his fork.

I pretended not to notice, but I absolutely did.

I always noticed.

I was a very observant person.

I, quite honestly, thought that all of his nervous quirks were kind of adorable. They weren't hard to pick up on. Every few seconds he would glance around the room. Every few minutes he'd glance out the window. He was constantly looking at me, too. He was paranoid, but it was an oddly alluring characteristic.

"Gerard," he said eventually, his voice quiet. He almost sounded a bit nervous. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," I said, taking a sip from my coffee. "I don't see why not."

He nodded, sitting his fork down and putting his hands in his lap, studying my face for a few seconds. "Why, exactly, did you ask to meet me here today...?"

I shrugged. I knew, of course, why. I had an answer, but he just wouldn't understand. "I guess I just... Wanted to see you again." I didn't like lying but I couldn't exactly say "Because I want to get to know you."

No, no that'd be the wrong thing to say. Especially to Frank. I could tell that it would just be a very off-putting statement to him. I've struggled with paranoia for most of my life and was just recently beginning to get over it, so I was aware of most of the symptoms. He wasn't exactly a classic case of paranoia, but he definitely had a few phobias that mimicked it.

He nodded slightly, looking satisfied. "Okay, I guess that makes sense."

I took another drink of my coffee, appreciating the flavor.

Between the people and the coffee, I was starting to rather enjoy this diner.

"What now?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow, setting my coffee on the table. I'd been enjoying the silence but now he seemed determined to break it. "What do you mean, 'what now?'"

"I mean, what do we do now? We've been sitting here for over an hour."

I almost wanted to correct him- it was an hour and thirty-eight minutes, to be exact- but I decided not to let my dirorder get the best of me. I had OCD- obsessive compulsive disorder. The doctors say I have it pretty bad, but I don't think so. I'm not overly concentrated on being clean, I don't wash my hands every few hours. I could honestly care less how sloppy my room looks.

I cared about timing, though. I cared about the precise timing of each and every aspect of my life, and I cared about doing things the right way. I cared about buttoning every button on a sweater and zipping jackets to the very top and keeping my shoelaces hanging symmetrically and drinking every last drop of coffee.

I wasn't at all obsessive, or compulsive.

I didn't have a problem.

I just liked things to be done the right way.

"What do you want to do, then?" I asked, trying not to sigh.

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know."

I turned my gaze to the diner's window. "It's a nice day out." I sent him a glance from the corner of my eyes. "Would you like to maybe go to the park?"

He paused for a second, biting his lip. "I... I don't know..."

"Oh, come on," I said, offering an encouraging smile. "It's really nice outside."

He paused for a second, gaze flickering from the window to the door to me and then back to the window. "Okay," he said softly, keeping his gaze on the window. "To the park."

He put his fork on his plate and started to pull out his wallet to pay for his food, but I stopped him before he could place any money on the table.

"Let me pay," I insisted.

He frowned, looking confused. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I'm the one who wanted to meet here. If I hadn't asked you to come, you wouldn't have been spending any money today. So, let me pay for it."

There was no way I was going to let Frank pay for his own food. I was the one who wanted to meet here again, I should be the one to pay. It wouldn't be right to just invite someone to go somewhere with me like that and then make them waste their own money.

Frank sighed, but stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. "Okay... Fine. But I'm paying next time."

"Of course you will," I grinned at him.

"Well," he said, blinking at me after I put the money for his salad and my coffee on the table. "To the park?"

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah, one second. Let me finish my coffee."

"Okay."

I drained the last few drops of coffee from my mug and then stood up, adjusting my hoodie on my shoulders and flicking my hair out of my face. "Come on, then. Let's go."

Frank followed me out of the diner, waving a small goodbye to the waitress and grinning at her.

Once the door clicked behind us I raised an eyebrow at him, slowing my steps to fall in pace with him. "So you and the waitress are friends?"

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, glancing at me and laughing a bit. "Yeah. Why?"

I shrugged, laughing a bit, too. "Just asking." I paused for a few seconds, counting how many steps it took us to walk over one rectangle of sidewalk. "She's a pretty girl."

Frank looked up at me, eyes widening. "What? You think I'm- that we're... What? No!"

I rolled my eyes, laughing again, but more at him than myself this time. "I wasn't implying anything, Frank. Just making an observation."

His breathing slowly returned to a normal pace as we looked at each other for a few seconds before he broke the gaze, dropping his eyes to his feet. "Y-you make a lot of observations, don't you, Gerard?"

"Mm-hm," I agreed, nodding vaguely. "I like making observations... It's a nice hobby to have, I think."

Frank tilted his head, studying the side of my head as I shyly turned my face away. I liked making observations, and I knew for a fact that I was good at it, but it was strange for someone else to notice.

I guess I just wasn't used to other people noticing. I don't talk to other people much, though, so I guess I had just never really given them a chance.

"What are some other observations you've made?" Frank asked, tilting his head slightly.

I shrugged, not sure how to answer. Most of my observations weren't things you could put in to words. Most of them were emotions, quirks, little things like that that I picked up about other people. I wasn't just seeing things about people, I was witnessing their personalities.

You couldn't just sum up someone's entire personality with words.

"I've made a lot of observations, Frank, but I don't really know how to explain most of them... Sorry."

"Oh... Well, that's okay, I guess. I understand."

We continued to walk in silence for a few minutes, until we arrived at the entrance to the city park.

"I haven't been here in forever," Frank admitted as we walked under the small iron arch, raising his head to look around.

We stood there, just inside the park gate for a second, and gazed around. It wasn't a big park- it was maybe about the size of a small parking lot- but that didn't stop it from bringing back a few miles worth of nostalgia.

I'd spent a lot of my childhood at parks. Not this one, seeing as I'd only ever been here once or twice in the past few years, but all over the country. My family did a lot of traveling before we settled down in North Carolina. I'd spent most of my life with my mom and my brother on the road.

We had started out in New Jersey, where most of my family, and my dad, remains. From Jersey we'd somehow managed to work ourselves all the way down to Florida, up to Baltimore, west to Chicago and then to California, then south to Texas, and then back to the east coast, finding a home in first South Carolina and then North.

It had been a hetic travel, my mom trying to find work as an artist and my brother Mikey and I struggling to stay kept up in school. Mom finally decided, a few years ago, to pull us out of the public school system all together and home school us. Mikey didn't mind it much, seeing as he had never really liked school in the first place, but I kind of missed it. I didn't miss the people, no, but the classes. I liked having structure. I liked having to move on a schedule and having a different room and teacher for every subject. I also missed my music class, but that wasn't nearly as much as a problem as the structure was.

I think that's why I liked parks so much. Every city we ever went to, if there had been one thing in common, it had been the parks. There were new people and new accents and new foods and new everything, but parks were a constant factor all the way across America.

Parks were a steady example of childhood, and childhood, no matter where you lived, should consist only of happiness and fun, and that's what parks were. They were the structure of childhood. Parks were direct representations of what childhood should be, so I guess that's why I spent so much time in them while my brother and mom stayed cooped up in whatever hotel or apartment we had been residing in. I was just trying to get back the childhood I had never had.

It had never really worked, though. Most of the time I got so caught up in the faux-happiness that I managed to do something stupid and screw it all up.

"Gerard," Frank said softly, noticing my blank expression.

I looked up at him, blinking away the memories of a fourteen year old me all alone in a city park, struggling through some guitar chords and singing my heart out to impress some girl I would never see again once I moved out of state.

"Hmm?"

"You okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Just... Just being in a park brings back a lot of memories."

Frank nodded, too, turning his gaze to the swings. "Yeah, for me too..."

We somehow made an unspoken decision to sit on the swings and walked over to them, both of us drowning in our memories.

I watched Frank on the swings, laughing a bit as he swung his legs to go higher and higher while I decided to just kind of sway forward and backwards, lifting my feet so that they didn't crape the ground.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, raising an eyebrow as Frank reached one hand away from the swing, spreading his fingers and letting the air rush through the gaps between them.

"I'm flying!" he said, like it was obvious, flashing me a grin and he swung past.

I rolled my eyes, grinning back. "Of course you are."

"Come on," he laughed, swinging his legs forward. "Try it, it's fun!"

I laughed and stood up half-way, moving as far back as the swing would allow me to and then pulled my feet forward, letting the swing fly forward. It took me a few minutes but soon enough I'd picked up a good pace of swinging, laughing at Frank as he laughed at me, and we both held our hands out, letting the wind hold our hands and rush through our hair.

"I haven't been on a swing in forever," Frank announced, closing his eyes and leaning back.

"Me neither," I said, leaning back as far as I could without falling at closing my eyes, loving the rush of air as I went up and the way my stomach flew into my throat as I swung back downwards.

"We need to do this more often," Frank said.

"Then we will."

I watched as Frank tossed his head back, letting out a happy laugh into the chilly fall air, strands of his black hair being caught in the wind.

He caught me looking at him and just grinned.

I smiled, too, because we looked like idiots. We were two teenagers on the swings in a park made for eight year olds, but I didn't care and I could tell he didn't, either.

All that mattered in that moment was swinging high enough to touch the sun.

And we did. We reached the sun and we touched the sky until it turned dark, and even then we didn't stop. We just ran our fingers through the stars and felt the air hug our hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four - Frank's POV  
Tomorrow would be Monday, and I had accomplished nothing over the weekend besides meeting Gerard.

"What's that?" Gerard inquired, looking at the papers I had spread across our lunch table.

"Homework," I sighed.

He sighed, too. "Oh."

I just nodded, tapping the pencil I had brought on the table. "I hate school. With a passion... A burning passion, actually."

He laughed a bit, lips pulling back into a slightly crooked smile. "I know what you mean. The people there are horrible."

"Aren't they, though? I wish I were homeschooled... It must be fun." I'd always wanted to be homeschooled. I hated school, I hated the teachers, I hated the other students. Everything about public school sucked.

"It's alright," Gerard said vaguely. "I miss public school, sometimes, but it's nice having my brother as my only classmate. He's easy to put up with."

"Are you one of those people who like learning?" I asked. "I'm not exactly a fan of it, but..."

He laughed a bit, one side of his smile slightly higher than the other. "I enjoy learning, yes. I don't enjoy reviewing things or practicing things, but I like learning new things."

I pointed vaguely to my paper. "You don't think you could possibly help me with this, then, do you?"

"It won't hurt to give it a shot. What is that, math?"

I nodded, turning the paper to face him. "Yeah. I'm horrible at it. It's my worst subject, next to... Well, next to everything else. You any good with numbers?"

"You could say that."

His hazel eyes danced, scanning across the equations, and every few seconds that fluttered closed or glanced upwards for a few moments, before going back to the paper, moving on to the next equation.

"Do you seriously understand this shit?" I asked disbelieving, warning his eyes as they moved with careful precision over the equations. It was all like another language, to me. Anyone who understood it was instantly a god.

"Yeah," he said, turning the paper back around to me. "It's pretty basic."

I stared at him, holding out my pencil. It was not at all 'pretty basic.' If it was 'pretty' anything, it was a 'pretty' accurate description of hell.

"Explain it, then."

He turned the paper back around to face him and scribbled some things in the corner, glancing at the equation every few seconds to double check his work.

"Here." He turned the paper back around. "The answer is negative six. I think you just forgot to carry the variable."

I looked from him to the math he had done and his annoyingly perfect handwriting, and then back up to him. "How old are you, again?"

"Seventeen. And how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

He nodded, pausing for a long minute. "Why, exactly, is age relevant to this situation?"

"Because. You- I mean- I don't know. You're smart, is all."

He paused for a few seconds, tilting his head to the side, lips turned down slightly. "I suppose I am. I think my last IQ test did score a few points above average... But I took that about a year ago. There's no telling if it's dropped or risen sense then."

I laughed at his lack of modesty. "I'm serious. Anyone who can understand this stuff must be a genius."

He laughed, too. "No, I'm not a genius. I just enjoy math."

"Math? Enjoy? Those two words shouldn't exist in the same sentence."

He just laughed again.

I came to realize over the next hour or so that Gerard was, in fact, extremely smart.

Exceptionally smart.

Exceedingly smart.

The boy was, actually, a genius.

He just didn't seem to see it.

"Okay, define 'ostentatiously'."

"Ostentatiously- characterized by vulgar or pretentious display, or designed to impress or attract notice. Essentially, bragging. Oh, and it's a noun, if that counts for anything."

I nodded, jotting down the definition.

I was done with my homework, but now I was curious about how smart he really was. "What's the longest word you know?"

He was quiet for a few moments.

"You want me to tell you the longest?"

I nodded and he sighed a bit, before rambling out some seemingly random string of letters.

"What?"

"Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis."

I just blinked at him.

"Can you say that again? Slowly?"

"Pneu. Mo. No. Ultra. Microscopic. Silico. Volcano. Con. Iosis."

"Oh. Okay." We were both silent for a few seconds, and I nodded, trying to process his pronunciation. "What the exact fuck does that mean?"

He chuckled a bit, running his fingers through his red hair, the strands greasy and tangled, before dropping his hand back down. "It's a lung disease, caused by the extended exposure to and inhalation of fine, siliceous dust."

I nodded, pretending to understand. "O-okay."

He blinked at me for a few seconds before looking away, down at where his hands were folded on the table. "Frank, just because I can pronounce and define a long word doesn't make me super intelligent or anything. I just like learning new words. It's a hobby."

"And math is 'just a hobby', too, I'm guessing?" I didn't mean to be rude, but I did. I didn't mean to sound like I didn't believe him.

"Yes," he said shortly. "Math is a hobby, too."

I nodded, looking away. I hadn't meant to be so rude... "Thank you," I said, my voice quiet with shame.

"For what?"

"For helping me with my homework..."

He shrugged, and from the corner of my eye, I could tell he was smiling. Why, I didn't know.

"No problem," he said, taking a sip of the coffee that he had ordered earlier.

We both fell silent again and I looked away, not understanding why he was smiling even though I'd been a bit of a jerk about the simple fact that he enjoyed math and new vocabulary.

Just because I hated school, I guess that didn't mean that he had to, too.

"You're being awfully quiet," Gerard observed.

"Sorry."

"Was it something I said?"

"No."

"Are you sure, if-"

"Gerard, it's fine. You're fine. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm just an idiot, is all."

"Well, I highly doubt that..."

I rolled my eyes. "Please, just drop it."

And so he did.

"Want to go to the park?" he asked, after drinking the last few sips of his coffee.

"Sure..."

We paid for Gerard's coffee- I paid, this time. He'd paid for my food for the past two days, I refused to let him get away with paying for himself again, too.

"So, Frank," Gerard said distantly as we made our way across the street to the park. "What grade are you in?"

"Eleventh."

"Me too."

And yet, he was so much smarter than me... "That's cool."

"What's your favorite color?"

I sent him a glance from the corner of my eyes. "I don't really know."

"Okay."

"What's your?"

"I haven't decided yet."

I just nodded.

"When's your birthday?"

I looked away. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

"I'm curious."

I sighed. "What's today's date?"

"The eighth."

I did some quick math, pausing for a few moments. "My birthday is in exactly twenty-three days."

Gerard blinked a few times. "It's on Halloween?"

I nodded shyly. "Yeah."

He nodded, too. "That must be really fun. Birthday presents, and free candy... You can't get a better combination than that."

I grinned. "True." As much as I didn't like celebrating, or the idea of birthdays and growing another year older, I did love the fact that I always got candy on my birthday.

"Are you doing anything for your birthday?"

I couldn't remember the last time someone asked me that. "Not really..." I didn't have anyone to go somewhere with- there was no point in celebrating if I'd be alone.

"Really?" he sounded surprised. "I mean, you'll be seventeen... It's a really different age. You should do something special."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I will. Why?"

He just shrugged back, a small smile dancing across his lips. "I don't know. If you're not doing anything, I instantly feel the need to throw you a party."

I laughed. "Don't bother. We'd be the only two people there."

"Oh, don't say that." His shoulder bumped mine and I laughed, bumping back. "And even if we were, we could still have plenty of fun."

His shoulder-bump threw me off balance a bit, but I couldn't help but grin. It had been a long time since I'd walked next to someone like this. It had been a long time since I had someone to laugh with and bump shoulders with and to talk to.

"Gerard, I'm serious. If you throw me a party I'll kill you in your sleep."

"I'd like to see you try! You don't even know where I live! And anyways, if I can't throw you a party, I'll just smother you with birthday-related stuff!"

"Birthday-related stuff? What type of birthday-related stuff?"

He grinned. "Cake, presents, that sort of stuff. And I'll sing happy birthday at the top of my lungs."

"Please don't-"

"I will!"

"No-"

"Yes!"

I glared at him, but still smiled. "Are you always this stubborn?"

"Yep," he nodded. "Why do you think I have no friends? I'm hard to get along with."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not true."

"But it is."

"But it's not. I get along with you just fine. I'm your friend, aren't I?"

He was silent for a few moments, seeming to actually consider the fact. "I suppose. Can two people become friends in... When did we meet, Friday? So, three days? Is that long enough to be classified as friends?"

"I guess..." I mean, this certainly felt like friendship. But I hadn't had a friend in a long time, so my opinion wasn't exactly the most relevant.

"Then I guess we are friends," he decided. "Neither of us can say that we don't had any friends, now."

It felt strange.

It felt very, extremely strange to have a friend.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd ever called someone my friend...

There was a reason for that. I didn't like having friends. I liked being alone. I liked keeping my problems to myself and not being a burden, and I liked not having to care about anyone else.

I had enough of my own problems, I couldn't just start sharing them with other people and start having to deal with their problems, too...

"Hey, the swings are open again!" Gerard grinned suddenly, interrupting the chaos swirling in my head.

I ginned, two, and we raced each other to the swings, laughing as we stumbled the last few feet, bumping shoulders and half-tripping one another.

"I win!" I shouted, making a dive for the swings.

"No, I do!"

I touched the swings first. "Ha!" I declared, sitting down.

He shot me a playful glare, narrowing his eyes and taking his own seat. "You suck."

"You suck more," I not-so cleverly responded, swinging my legs back and forth.

He mimicked my motions and snickered, laughing more at himself then me as we swung higher and higher. "You're right, I do."

I snickered, too, even though I wasn't really sure what I was laughing at. "Is that supposed to be a confession or a gay joke?"

"Let's consider it both."

I just grinned, shaking my head. "Where the hell have you been all my life?"

"Hiding, obviously," he said, winking. "Why do you ask?"

"Because." I wasn't exactly sure. "You're the first person I've gotten along with in a long time."

He smiled widely at me. "I could say the same for you, Frank. But we haven't known each other for that long... Things could always change."

"But I hope they don't."

"And I don't, either."

We fell silent for quite a while, but then we started talking.

We talked for a long time.

We talked about anything and everything, and then some. We talked about my mom and about Gerard's mom and his brother and we talked about how our parents were divorced and why, and we talked about our favorite pastimes and our favorite music and our favorite movies and our favorite books. We talked a lot.

And we had a lot in common.

"How long have we been here?" I asked eventually, sighing.

"I don't know... A few hours, maybe."

I sighed and stopped my swinging, letting my feet scrape roughly against the ground. "I have school tomorrow... I should probably get home."

Gerard nodded. "Yeah, I guess my mom's probably worried about me, anyways..."

We didn't really say much after that.

We didn't really have to.

We walked out of the park together, and he went one way, and I went the other.

We made a mutual, nearly unspoken decision that we would meet again tomorrow, after I got out of school.

Gerard agreed to help me with my homework, as long as he got to order a coffee, and we decided that we would go to the park tomorrow again, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five - Gerard's POV  
I hate Mondays.

With a passion.

A burning passion.

For the most part, my day was boring as hell. Like I had told Frank, I liked learning, but I'm not a fan of the whole "sit and read from a textbook" thing. I think that's part of the reason why I miss public school so much- I miss actually having people to have discussions with. I mean, sure, Mikey, Mom, and I talk a lot, but otherwise, I don't get to debate about books with multiple people, or have group projects with a million different ideas spewing out and turning into one coherent theme like I used to.

No, my days were a bit more bland than group-collaborations and debates over the use of a certain metaphor in Shakespear's poems.

Lessons, coffee break, and then more schoolwork.

That was my life, now. Every school day I started school at nine, took a break at twelve, and then worked until four. After that, I read or painted or wrote a song, and then went to bed at nine. Weekends consisted of the after-school things, the creative time-wasters that I only did because I had to do something besides stare at a wall while I thought.

But, I guess that wasn't exactly right. Frank had been a part of my shedule for the past few days- he had replaced the time-wasters with something that actually made me happy.

"Gerard," Mikey sighed, plopping down in his chair next to me at the kitchen table. "Explain the math again. Mom explained it good but I don't think I did it right."

I sighed and reached over, lifting his paper. "She explained it 'well,' Mikey. Not 'good.'" I glanced over his work for a few seconds, nodding slightly. "You did it right. Just find the square root of your answer and you're done."

He blinked rapidly, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "Really?"

I nodded, giving the kid a smile and ruffling his short, brown-blonde hair with one hand. "Yep."

He was smarter than he thought-

"Are you sure?"

"Positive.

-but as much as I loved my brother, he doubted himself far too much.

"Oh, okay, then..."

And we both went back to our work.

Mikey and I had grown up to depend on each other- he wouldn't be confident enough to do anything if I weren't here, and I would have no one to talk when I felt bad. It might not sound like a fair trade, confidence for words, but it was. I gave him the ability to believe in himself and he gave me a reason to not think too much, which was sometimes a life-saver.

If one thinks too much, one discovers things about one's self that one doesn't like, and that was a bad thing, for me. Mikey helped me stay away from that- he provided a distraction from all of the bad things hiding deep inside my head.

I think Mikey looks up to me a little too much, sometimes. He's only thirteen, four entire years younger than me, and has always been convinced that I hold all of the answers to every problem.

And most of the time, when it came to academics, I did. But when it came to real life problems... I'm more or less a classic example of what not to do when in a social issue.

I could still remember the first time Mikey had his first crush. He was seven, and I was eleven, and he was head-over-heels in love with this girl named Julie Foster. She was a pretty girl, and was always fairly nice to me, but she had the nastiest attitude when it came to people she didn't like, or when it came to people annoying her, and her dad was a professional boxer.

Mikey was one of those kids who, if he liked someone, would give them a flower and then run away as fast as he could from being so nervous...

Normally when I don't have an answer to something, I just don't answer the question, but I was his big brother, so I was supposed to know how to make her like him. The only problem was, I had never really had a crush on anyone before, and I didn't really know how to act around girls.

I couldn't just not help him, though. I tried- I really did. I told him what I had read in books.

He got a black eye and a bloody nose, to put it simply. I'd always felt guilty for it, but he never seemed to want to hold it against me. He still looked at me like I was a genius.

"Hey, Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"You're always coming to me for advice- can I ask you something, for a change?"

He blinked a few times, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Uh, sure. I don't see why not."

I nodded and looked up at the ceiling. I didn't have an exact question, but... "What's it like to have a friend?"

He stared at me. "What?"

I shrugged, looking away. Seventeen is too old to be asking a middle schooler what friendship is like. I've never felt more awkward talking to my own brother before in my life. "Like, what do you and your friends do, and...?" I trailed off, sighing. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Never mind."

He frowned a bit. "Gerard, is everything alright with you...? You've been kind of distracted the past few days."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... I don't know. I think I need to get out of the house."

"Oh. But you were out a lot this weekend-"

"And I think I'm going to start being out a lot more, too."

He stared at me, brown eyes confused. "But-"

"You'll be fine, Mikey," I assured him. "I just need some time to myself."

That was a complete lie, but it was also fairly true. Being with Frank did feel like time to myself, because all my other time was spent with my family, so being around someone new was a brilliant, majorly refreshing thing.

"Okay, then," he said softly, sighing. "How long do you think you'll be out...?"

I shrugged. From the way the past few days had gone, it seemed like a while. "I'll probably start going out around three, and coming back... Well, whenever, I guess. About seven." That gave me thirty minutes before I had to meet Frank and about an hour after he had to go home, so I technically wasn't lying. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He didn't make eye contact with me.

I sat my math book next to his, stood up, and left.

As much as I loved Mikey, he cared about me a bit too much, sometimes.

"Mom?"

She stood by the kitchen counter, the window open, a cigarette clutched between her fingers. She tapped it out the window before putting it out in her ever-faithful ashtray. "Yeah?"

"Can I leave a bit early today?"

"Early? How early?"

"Like... Now, early?"

She glanced at the clock. "Gerard, it's only noon."

"Please?"

She sighed, shaking her head a bit. "You're lucky I love you."

I grinned, grabbing my hoodie off of the table and kissing her cheek. "Love you too, Ma."

As I disappeared out the door, I heard her call, "Don't get into trouble!"

Trouble? I don't get into trouble. I cause trouble.

??

\---

??

I didn't have to really think about where I was going- there were only two high schools in this town, and it was obvious from what he had told me that Frank went to the public one, so it narrowed my choices down pretty quickly. The fact that it was noon made it easy to get the timing right, and knowing Frank's personality and the state of his shoes, it wasn't hard to guess where he ate.

"Gerard, what the serious hell are you doing here?"

I shrugged, sitting next to Frank on the bench. "Being bored."

He stared at me. He looked deviously adorable today, with his hoodie pulled carelessly over his hair, strands of black sticking out at odd angles. "It's lunchtime. On a Monday. And we are at my school."

"And? We're outside. It's not like I'm going to be taken down by a cop for intruding, or something."

"But what if a teacher sees you?" he hissed, tapping my foot with his.

"Then I'll leave."

"But-"

"Or we could just both leave now, and there's no risk of getting in trouble."

He stared at me, hazel eyes wide.

"Are you asking me to skip school with you?"

"No. I'm giving you a choice. Stay here or leave." I stood up, putting my hands in my back pockets. "Here, or the park. Doesn't matter to me. Either way, I'm sticking around until lunch is over."

We fell into silence for a few minutes and I took that time to really look at him- short, thin, and at the moment, curling his fists in annoyance. It was kind of cute, the way he was turning pink. "Damn it, Gerard. You're lucky I hate school."

I grinned as he stood up. "So you're coming?"

"Yes."

We started walking, and he tossed his brown paper lunch bag into a trash can as we waltzed off of school campus- no one had said anything when I had come on, and no one mentioned it when we left.

"How did you find me?"

"Well, it's kind of obvious. I know you go to Northender because it's the only public high school here, and I know you eat in a strange place because you hate everyone at your school, so you'd probably want to sit really far away from them, and also your shoes are always pretty muddy on the bottom, so you're probably outside a lot."

He stared at me. "You're either a stalker or extremely, scarily observant."

I laughed. "Let's go with observant."

"Anything else you know about me?" he asked, bumping my shoulder lightly.

"Oh, Frank," I grinned, not bumping him back but instead allowing our shoulders to brush as we walked. "I could go on for hours."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really, now? You think so?"

"I know so. But I'm not going to."

"Well, why not?"

I just smiled. "I'd prefer to ignore my observations and experience them for myself before I make a bunch of guesses. Anyways, I can't focus too well right now... Haven't had my coffee yet."

He laughed and I did, too, but I was actually quite serious. I didn't feel awake until I had coffee. I never did. It was one of those vital things that I needed. It was like flicking the lights off and then tapping the switch down two more times before I left the room just to make sure it was off all the way, or looking at each corner of my ceiling for exactly two seconds each before I flipped the switch off (touching it two more times, just to make sure it was off all the way,) and then running as fast as I possibly could though the dark to jump into my bed.

The doctors say it's all part of my OCD.

They say the coffee is, they say that the lights are, they say that checking the corners and straightening stacks of books, and looking on both sides of the room for exactly four seconds before you entered were all bad, OCD habits that needed to stop.

They say that my OCD is getting worse.

I'm convinced I don't have it.

Drinking every drop of coffee wasn't obsessive, touching the light switch three times in total wasn't compulsive, and checking my room for bad things didn't mean I had a disorder. It was all just habit; it was a part of my daily life. It was how I have always lived and always will.

It's a part of my system, and nothing breaks my system.

Break my system and you break me, too.

Something touched my arm and I jerked my head towards Frank, blinking. I glanced down- his fingers were touching my arm.

"I've been trying to get your attention for a full five minutes, Gerard."

I stared at his hand touching my arm. "Sorry."

His hand dropped, fingers curling slightly by his side.

"You're awfully moody today..."

I looked away, focusing my eyes on the street ahead, blinking a few times in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, his shoulder brushing mine. "You just got really quiet, is all."

"Oh. Sorry. Could we- do you maybe want to go to the diner? I haven't had lunch yet."

"Well, I didn't finish mine because it was interrupted..." He gave me a playful glare and I answered with a tiny smile. "So, sure."

We fell into silence, shoulders brushing every few seconds. It was nice, walking with Frank; it gave me a minute to gather my thoughts. I starting humming, running through math equations in my head. How long would it take for someone to notice he was missing from school? Thirty minutes at the least- that was about when his lunch period probably ended. Never, at most- Frank was a quiet kid...

Kind of like me, but only a different kind of quiet. I was more of an observant quiet, and Frank was... Well, he was an outcast kind of quiet.

"Gerard?"

I counted how many steps it took to cross one square of sidewalk, trying to push that word, 'outcast,' out of my head- it took me three steps and it took Frank four and a half.

"Gerard."

He wasn't an outcast, and I wasn't, either. We were just quiet.

I ran my fingers through my hair, sighing. The bright red dye was slowly becoming both annoying and unnecessary. It had started out as a cry for social attention- something I'd never enjoyed, but as a human, it was needed to keep myself from going insane.

"Gerard..."

It had certainly worked, the sudden change in appearance. The few acquaintances I had started talking to me a lot more after that. It was now irrelevant, though. People noticed me again, and I didn't like it. I wanted to be invisible- I wanted to fade into the background, like I used to, and go unnoticed again. I no longer had a need for such an unnatural hair color.

"Gerard!"

There was a sudden yank on my arm.

"What?" I asked, surprised, spinning to face Frank as we both stopped walking.

"Did you hear me calling your name?"

I blinked. "I- I did."

"Then why the hell did you not answer me?"

"I was thinking."

"About...?"

"Several things."

He stared at me and then tore his eyes away, sticking his hands in his back pockets. "Fucking hell, Gerard, sometimes you're too weird for your own good."

"Well, you are too-" He glared at me. "-but I like it."

We both sighed and I looked down at my feet, kicking at the ground slightly.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know. I was having a shitty day at school, and I guess I'm not over it yet."

"Oh." I could understand that- there were some terrible people at schools. Sometimes it felt more like a torture chamber than anything else.

I met Frank's eyes, his expression solemn.

"Oh," I realized. "Did you- did you want to talk about it?"

He let out a small laugh, looking at his feet. "Is it that obvious?"

I smiled, too. "Kind of... Come on. Let's get to the diner." We started walking again, not quite as close as before. "So... Um..."

He looked up at me, eyebrows raised. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I'm horrible, actually. So, uh, what happened? Did someone say something, or...?"

"Yeah, that happened. But there's more..."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "Really? What, did you get shoved against a locker, or-"

"Worse."

I whistled.

He nodded as we walked up to the diner. "Yeah. It was pretty shitty." I pushed the door open and he ducked slightly, walking under my arm, saying a quiet "Thank you," that I replied to with a nod. "Take another guess."

We went to the same booth that we had been sitting at for the past few days, sitting on our respective sides.

"Was it something someone called you?"

"I'll give you a hint- it was a combination of things."

I sighed, shaking my head. "You might as well tell me, Frank. We'd be here for hours if I just kept guessing."

"Well, it started this morning."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "My mom yelled at me for a good half hour."

"About what?"

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "My diet."

"Your diet...? What's wrong with your diet?"

"'Vegetarian'," he explained, "is a synonym for 'eating disorder', in my house. If you're not eating meat then you're evidently starving yourself."

I stared at him. "That's a load of shit... That's not- that's not how eating disorders work... You don't just stop eating. There's more to it then that, I mean-"

The waitress walked up to our table, smiling. I hadn't seen her in the before in the few days since Frank and I had started meeting here. "Hi, my name is Danni- can I start you guys off with something to drink?"

"Actually," Frank said, glancing at me. "I already know what I want, I get the same thing every time..." He laughed a bit, awkwardly. "If you don't mind, could I go ahead and order now?"

"No, I don't mind!" She pulled out her notebook and pen. "Go ahead."

"Well, just a salad for me, and, uh, water to drink, I guess."

"Okay," she smiled and turned towards me. "And how about you?"

I felt my stomach churn slightly- the way she had been looking at Frank made me sick. "I'll just have a coffee, thank you... Black, please..."

She nodded, jotting down our orders. "Okay, I'll be right out with that!"

Frank looked at me, his expression worried. "Speaking of diets..."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I'm just not hungry anymore."

"But you haven't had lunch, you said so yourse-"

"I'm not hungry, okay?" I snapped.

"But-"

"It's none of your business!"

He stared at me. "What the fuck is your problem, Gerard? You're acting like an ass today."

"I'm just not in a good mood-"

"A good mood?" he snapped. "You're not in a good mood? Today I got told that I should use my shoelaces to hang myself, Gerard. And then I got called a fag, and then, you know what someone else said to me? They said that no one would miss me if I were to kill myself. And you know, I think it's actually fucking true. So don't you complain to me about not being in a 'good mood,' Gerard Way. I'd rather just go ahead and kill myself then argue about this shit."

I stared at him. "Frank..."

"What?" I couldn't bring myself to look away from him as he slowly realized what he had just said. His fingers dragged through his hair and he closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I, I just-"

"It's okay," I said softly. "I get it... People are assholes. I understand."

He met my eyes, laughing a bit. "Yeah, I guess you would."

We fell silent until the waitress returned with his salad and my coffee.

"A few weeks ago," Frank confessed quietly, stabbing at his salad. "I almost did it."

"Did what?"

He shrugged, chewing quietly. "You know..." He held the fork close to his neck and dragged it all the way across, in a mock-slicing motion.

I felt my stomach lurch. "Frank-"

"I'm over it, though."

I couldn't stop staring at him. "Frank."

He sighed, laying the fork down. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"Frank, why the fuck-"

"Because, the kid at school is right! No one would miss me if I just disappeared."

I could feel something deep in my chest sinking a bit- he was causing a physical reaction, deep in my mind, and it hurt. "I would," I whispered. "I would miss you."

He looked down at his plate. "But if I had just gone ahead and done it, you wouldn't have met me, anyways. Then... Then, no one would care..."

I didn't know what to say, because I think he was right.

Who did he have, besides me? His mom, I guess, but he said that they hated each other, anyway.

"C-can you promise me something?" he said quietly.

"Of course."

"Promise me that - that we'll stay friends?"

"Of course, Frank... I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six - Frank's POV  
After a few minutes of silence, I was still munching away on my salad, letting the fact that I finally had a friend sink in, and Gerard was still drinking his coffee, humming some song between every sip.

I tilted his head to the side, trying to place the tune. "What song is that?"

"Oh, uh..." He turned pink, making me smile. I'd never seen Gerard blush before, but it was a look that he wore well. "It... Well, it doesn't really have a title."

"Oh! So did you write it yourself?"

He looked down at his coffee mug, gripping it tight with both hands as he brought it up to his lips. "Yeah," he said quietly, drinking a bit of his coffee.

"On the guitar, or do you sing, or-?"

"I play piano." He was still a slight shade of pink, and I couldn't keep the amused and interested grin off of my face.

"Piano? Really? How long have you been playing?"

"For a while, I guess... For as long as I can remember, actually... I don't really remember a time when I wasn't playing piano..."

"Could I hear sometime?" I asked.

His cheeks were nearly red by now, "Sure. I guess."

I smiled. "Yay."

Gerard laughed a bit, rolling his eyes, even though he was still obviously embarrassed. "You're easy to please."

"Not always," I said, truthfully. "I just like music."

"Oh, do you play an instrument?"

"Yeah," I grinned. "I play guitar." I was rather proud of that fact- it had taken a while for me to get the hang of it, considering my mom refused to pay for lessons. Everything I knew I either learned from the Internet, by watching other people, or was self-taught. "We should play together, sometime."

He smiled, one side of his lips pulled slightly higher than the other in a nervous smile. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

I grinned back at him. It was funny how nervous he suddenly was. He came across as someone who wouldn't get modest about things, but I guess everyone has things that they don't like to talk about because it embarrassed them. Mine was photography, his must be music.

We fell into silence again, and I couldn't help but notice how different this silence was then the ones that I'd grown up to so desperately hate. My house was always quiet, except for when my mom was telling me to do something, I was playing the guitar, or my mom and I were having another one of our screaming matches. This silence, the quiet that Gerard and I shared, was a lot different than the one my mom and I struggled with. It was a pleasant silence. It was comfortable. He sipped on his coffee and I ate my salad and for the most part, we were comfortable together.

Every few minutes we'd accidentally meet eyes- if he just happened to look over at the same time as me, or if he had been looking at me, I couldn't exactly tell, but I didn't exactly mind, either. Being looked at by Gerard was almost a compliment. It meant I was worth his time, and for some reason, that felt like a big accomplishment, when it came to Gerard.

Gerard rested his head on his hand, closing his eyes and sighing.

I looked at him for a few seconds before feeling myself frown. "Are you okay, Gerard...?"

"Yeah... Just... I just haven't been feeling too well today," he said, eyes still closed. "Besides the whole, uh, 'not in a good mood' thing..."

Now that I thought about it, he was right. He didn't look well, today. I felt instant regret for being so rude, earlier. "Did you get enough sleep last night?"

He was silent for a few seconds, but then he forced his eyes open, sighing and looking at me sleepily. "No."

My eyebrows went up. "Then that's probably your problem...."

"Actually, it's probably not." He shifted himself until he was sitting upright again, taking a sip of his coffee.

"But it probably is," I argued. "You weren't feeling well yesterday, you're not feeling well today, and it's all because of a lack of sleep..."

"Frank, shut up," he snapped.

I did, shrinking back a bit. I hadn't meant to make him mad... We'd argued enough today already, and neither of us had had a good day. I just wanted to help him.

"Shit, Frank, I'm sorry..."

I just kept looking at him.

"Really," he insisted, sitting his coffee down and rubbing his face. "I'm sorry... I- I guess I am just tired... And you're- you're right. I didn't sleep well."

I sighed, not hiding my discomfort well. "Why haven't you been sleeping well?"

He started to raise his hand to his neck, rubbing his shoulder slightly, lips parted to explain.

"Don't give me that shit about sleeping on your shoulder wrong, again."

He dropped his hand, looking down to where he had laced his fingers on top of the table. "Sorry. I just haven't slept well, I guess."

I lifted my hand, hesitantly, reaching out and touching his arm before pulling my fingers away. I wanted to help him, but I didn't know how. I wasn't good at the whole comforting thing. I was too messed up, myself, to know what to say to make him feel better. Eventually I just found myself saying his name, pleading him with my eyes to tell me what was wrong.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Can we talk about it later, Frank? We've had enough depressing conversation for one day."

I nodded, agreeing. "Yeah. Sure." I glanced outside, to where the sky was a bright, pretty blue. "Want to go to the park? We haven't been here too long, we could just spend the rest of the day there."

"Sure," Gerard said, nodding back. "And it's been- well, never mind."

I blinked a few times. "What? I'm curious, now."

He shrugged. "It- it's nothing. I was just going to say that it's been an hour and three minutes, but... It's kind of irrelevant, I guess."

"Oh. Okay."

\---

Two weeks later, and Gerard and I were still friends. That was a big feat, for me- I'd managed to not screw anything up.

We met at the diner today, like always. It was Saturday. Gerard never got anything more than a coffee, even on weekends, when I knew for a fact that he hadn't eaten lunch yet.

"Black, one sugar."

He liked to do the cream himself, measuring out more or less the same amount each time, stirring it for a certain amount of time, and then placing the spoon on his napkin next to the mug. He always licked the spoon before he sat it down, never failing to back me laugh.

He was such a coffee whore- he never left any coffee in the cup or on the spoon- and if he did, he ordered a second coffee and drank the whole thing, making sure not to waste a single drop of the new mug.

It had concerned me for a while that he wasn't eating lunch, but he always claimed to have eaten a big breakfast, and got far too defensive for his own good.

The first few days or three, we argued for a good five or six minutes about his dietary habits. After a five days, we only spent about a minute or two on the topic. After a week, I'd offer him part of my salad, and he would always decline. By now, I had stopped asking.

I caught on to the fact that he just didn't want to eat. Whether it was because he wasn't hungry or because he was embarrassed to eat in public, or if it was because of some eating disorder he had, I didn't know, and he didn't share.

It didn't matter, though.

I stopped worrying about him, and he stopped having to provide answers. It was a simple solution for both of us.

Eventually, he stopped asking about the little things I did, too. He stopped asking why I always glanced over my shoulder before I entered the diner and he stopped asking why I looked so nervous when I left the park. He stopped questioning why I was always early to our little meetings and he stopped asking why I always wanted to wait a bit longer at the park.

I think he caught on to the fact that I was just afraid of everything. He caught on to the fact that there was a reason why I didn't want to go home ever again, and there was a reason why I was scared that someone would be following me home.

I wanted to waste my life away- I always have, and probably always will want to- away from home, and Gerard was the perfect excuse to do that. I'd always been told that I was socially retarded and was incapable of making friends, and Gerard was both proving that wrong and helping me achieve my goals of being away from home.

It was a win-win situation.

"It's pretty cloudy out today," Gerard observed as I settled into the booth across from him.

I nodded, following his gaze out the window. "Yeah. It is pretty ominous, isn't it?"

I was still being surprised by how easy it was to talk to him- most people I probably looked like an idiot in front of, but I was much more comfortable around Gerard. I think it was because he had approached me first, the day we met. I didn't have to try and make friends because he had already done that for me.

"Maybe we should skip the park," I frowned. As much as I didn't want to go home and as much as I enjoyed being with Gerard, I didn't want to be caught in the rain, either. Anyway- I had less things to be scared of at home, with this storm. If it looked like rain, Ross and the rest of my tormentors were almost never waiting on the side of the street for me.

It's been nice, being with Gerard so late in the afternoon. I'd managed to miss Ross and his friends most of the time... When I did see them the punishment for being, well, me, was a bit worse because they had to make up for missed time, but it was still better than being harassed every day of my life.

Gerard sent me a surprised look, eyes a bit wide. "Skip the park? Why?"

I shrugged, shifting nervously. "I-I really hate thunderstorms, is all. I mean, it's just one day... We can go early tomorrow, if you want."

He shook his head frantically, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. "No, no, no- l-let's still go today. Okay?"

I blinked at him a few times. I'd never seen Gerard look scared before. It was not an emotion that he wore well. It clashed against his entire demeanor.

If there was one thing I had learned about Gerard in the past two weeks, it was that he knew how to handle practically every situation. No matter what happened, he stayed completely calm and confident. Even when I came thirty minutes late because the kids from school had managed to stop me on the way here, he didn't say anything when my fingers shook as I tried to eat my food, and he didn't freak out when the tiny rip in my bottom lip that they had caused started bleeding again. He had just given me a sympathetic look and brought me a piece of cake and a sad smile the next day.

He'd never looked so scared, as he did right now.

"O-okay," I managed to agree, for his sake. Whatever was making Gerard so freaked out was making me terrified. It was supposed to be hard not knowing what to be afraid of, but as someone who was scared of everything without an explanation for my fright, I had a natural fear of the unknown, so it only helped me to sympathize with him more.

As soon as Gerard finished his coffee- we never left until he finished his coffee- we made our way out onto the street.

I felt instantly nervous as we stepped outside. I hated rain. I hated storms. I hated thunder and lighting with a passion.

They all scared the living hell out of me.

"Frank...? Are you okay?"

I nodded a bit, not really paying attention. "Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"But I am."

He looked at me intently for a second. "Don't lie to me Frank, I'm not as stupid as some other people may be. I know body language, and something's bothering you, but the question is what, exactly, it is that's bothering you."

I glared at him and put my hands in my jacket pockets. I just wanted to get back inside before it started raining.

He blinked at me for a few seconds and then suddenly turned, walking away.

"Gerard?"

"Are you coming?" he asked.

I stared at the back of his head. He stopped, putting his hands in his pockets, too, rocking back on his heels.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Are you coming, Frank," he said, back still towards me. "Or are you going to wait until it rains?"

I sighed and fell into step behind him.

"Where are we going to go, if not the park?"

"A place."

"What type of place?"

"A familiar one."

A familiar one? How could we possibly be going to a familiar place when he was leading us aimlessly down the road?

I wanted to ask, but I was positive that he wouldn't answer.

After a few minutes, it started raining.

"Gerard," I said, moving my feet a bit more quickly than before. "Please walk faster."

He stopped mid-step to lift the hood on his hoodie, taking extra care to smooth his unnaturally red hair back behind his ears. I stopped, too, turning back to face him. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to put your hood up? I thought you didn't like rain."

"I don't like storms," I corrected. "Rain I guess I can deal with. Thunder and lightning are what bother me... Can we just go, please?"

"Not until you put your hood up."

"Gerard, no, I-"

He pouted a bit, putting his hands on his hips. "Hood. Now."

I just rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at him. "Gerard, I'm fine. Let's just go."

"You're getting your hair wet," he protested, throwing his hands in the air slightly. "It's going to be all disgusting later!"

I sighed, not really caring and just wanting to get somewhere safe before the thunder started, but he moved to stand in front of me, reaching out and pulling my hood up for me. I laughed as he took extra time to move my hair out of my face, like he had done for himself, his fingers lingering on my cheek for a few seconds as he grinned at me.

"Now what do you say?" he asked, tapping the tip of my nose with his index finger as he pulled his hands away.

I laughed again, grinning at his need for something in return for an unwanted gesture. "Thank you, your majesty Gerard."

"The 'your majesty' was a bit sarcastic, but... You're welcome," he said smugly, falling in step with me as we started walking again.

"So... Where, exactly, are we going?"

I could almost feel the smirk radiating off of his skin.

"A place."

"A place? What type of place."

"Just... A place."

"But-"

"Butts are for sex, Frankie."

I sent him a mock-disgusted look, bumping my shoulder against his, something that we'd both started doing when we were joking around. "You're horrible."

He just laughed, bumping my shoulder back. "And yet, you stick around."

I rolled my eyes, but something about the statement struck me as odd. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, looking over at me with a slight smile. "You're still here. Not many people stick around me for too long."

"Well, I can't see why," I frowned. "You're an enjoyable person to be around."

He laughed, loud, tossing his head back slightly. His hood slipped back a bit and I reached over without thinking about it, pulling it back up. He grinned at me. "Just remember that you've never been around me for more than a few hours. Spend at least an entire day with me and you'll be gone in a second."

"I doubt that." My hands were in my back pockets, and I looked everywhere but him, suddenly not knowing what to do with my eyes. I felt like maybe if I couldn't see him, then he wouldn't see the slight, embarrased shade of red that was rising in my cheeks. "You're the first friend I've had in a while."

Gerard looked at me for a long minute, and I felt myself get nervous. Had that come out wrong?

"You're the first person in a long time to consider me their friend, Frank."

I looked up at him, blinking in confusion. "Really?"

He nodded, eyes focusing ahead of us. "Yeah," he said distantly. "Not many people like being around me."

I just sighed, shaking my head. "We're a sad pair, Gerard."

He nodded in agreement. "At least we're together, though."

I smiled. "Yeah, true... So, where, exactly, are we going?"

Maybe he would tell me, now.

"You'll see."

I sent him a playful glare and he just laughed.

As we walked, it slowly started raining harder. Gerard glanced up as a shot of lightening went out across the sky. I felt my eyes go wide. "G-Gerard, maybe we should get in- inside somewhere," I panicked, starting to look around for a store or something.

He gave me a worried look and I just stared at him, not understanding why he wasn't doing anything about our impending doom. It was not at all safe to be out in the middle of a storm. And considering the fact that we were next to a park filled with trees and I had a my metal house key in my pocket, we were completely exposed to lightning, too. And, oh, god, the zippers on our jackets! Those were metal, right? And all metal attracts electricity...

"Gerard!" I urged, trying to make him make a decision.

He just reached over and grabbed my hand, and we both started running. I didn't really know where we were going, but he was dragging me along with him.

"Gerard," I whined. "What-"

"Just run!" he insisted.

We both picked up the pace, his hand on mine keeping me running. He turned around a corner, jerking me with him, and I stumbled a bit. "Wh-"

"We're almost there!"

It thundered and I ducked my head, running faster. Eventually I managed to get to Gerard's side, and he let go of my hand, slowing down to a walk, so I did, too.

"Come on."

We crossed the street and I blinked as we approached a little brick house.

"Gerard...?"

He jogged up the few steps and I followed behind, efficiently confused.

"Welcome to the Way residence, Frank," he said, pulling a key out of his pocket and jiggling the door open.

I blinked a few times in confusion. "What?"

"My house," he said, shooting me a smile over my shoulder. "I figured we didn't have much of a choice between here and your house," he explained. "And I didn't really think that you'd want to go to your house, so..."

I grinned as I followed inside. "Good decision."

Gerard's house was much more interesting then mine.

The front door led into the kitchen, and the first thing I noticed was a bowl of chocolate on the table. I sent him a look, smiling. "Can I...?"

He laughed, nodding. "Of course."

"Yay." I picked a piece of chocolate out of the bowl, unwrapping it and looking around as I chewed it, curious. His house was much warmer and a thousand times friendlier than mine. My house was always either completely dark or painfully bright, and looked untouched and un-lived in. Gerard's house, however, looked alive. The lighting was warm and cast soft, gray but not dark shadows, and the light yellow walls of his kitchen made me smile. There were used cups and dishes in the sink, and a bit of clutter on the table. The fridge was covered in magnets and pictures, and the walls held lots of pictures, too.

"Is that your mom?" I asked, nodding to a picture on the wall nearest us.

It was taken probably a few years ago, Gerard looking a bit younger then he did now, and his hair dark brown instead of bright red. The picture was of him with a girl who looked to be about his age on his back, her hands in the air and her legs wrapped around his waist as he held her up, arms wrapped around her legs. Next to them stood a young boy, and the woman who I guessed to be his mom, and they all looked like the picture had been taken unexpectedly, the girl the only one looking at the camera. They were all smiling.

"Yep," he said, nodding and coming to stand next to me. "And the kid is my brother."

"Mikey, right?"

He nodded.

I titled my head slightly to the side. "Who's the girl?'

He fell silent for a few moments, and I could tell that something was wrong, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

I took the silence as a second to really look at the picture. The girl looked so happy, Gerard grinning up at her. The girl's hair was a light, natural red-ish brown, and her arms and legs were covered with freckles.

"A friend," he said eventually, voice quiet. There was something wrong, I could tell.

I sighed, not knowing how to fix the sadness. "She's pretty."

"She was beautiful," he sighed.

She was beautiful?

I somehow managed to stand closer to him, not knowing what to say. "Gerard..."

He had moved closer to me, too. I could tell that he needed comforting, but god, I was the worse person to ask.

I sighed, closing my eyes and resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I said quickly, eyes snapping open. "I- I just don't... I'm not very good at this. The whole, uh, comforting thing, I mean. I, um-"

His head tilted, resting on top of mine with a sad smile that I could see from the corner of my eye. "You're doing just fine, Frank."

We stood there for a while, and eventually, my eyes slipped closed again. I didn't know what to say, so I just tried to send helpful thoughts his way.

"Her name was Bonnie," Gerard said finally, breaking the silence.

"Bonnie," I echoed, opening my eyes. "That's a pretty name."

His lips pulled back in a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"How long ago was that picture?"

"I was fourteen, so three years ago..."

"Were... Were you guys close?"

"You could say that."

He shifted a bit, fingers brushing my arm. I sighed, not having even noticed his arm move behind my back.

"It's okay, now, though," he said, standing straight suddenly, making me move my head, his arm dropping. His hand flew to the back of his head, running through his hair. "I'm- I'm over what happened."

I nodded, not sure what he meant by that or how to respond. "That's good," I said.

"Come on," he said, turning away from the picture. "I'll show you my piano, if you want."

"S- sure."

I followed him through his house, taking in the warm glow of everything. It didn't at all feel like just a house- it was a home. People lived here, the thrived here, they enjoyed it here.

Gerard led me down the hall, pointing out each room on the way. "My mom's room, the bathroom, that just leads to the basement, this is Mikey's room..."

We reached the last door, on the right. "My bedroom," he said simply. I nodded, following him inside and over to the piano.

"It's nice in here," I said, looking around.

He shrugged. "I guess... I spend too much time in here to form an opinion, I think."

"Really?" I said, looking around. "I didn't know that was possible."

"It is," he said, sitting on his piano bench. "The longer you spend around something, the more you get used to it, so eventually, you become indifferent to it and your opinion becomes irrelevant."

I nodded, taking that in as I gazed around his room. It was more or less the same size as mine, with not too much furniture. His piano was pushed up against the wall; a white desk and black chair was next to it. On the wall directly opposite was his bed, the sheets white, the blanket black, and on his other wall was a dresser and a guitar, leaning against the wall.

"I thought you didn't play?"

"I do... Just not well."

"Oh... Do you mind if I...?"

"No, go ahead!"

I grinned, walking over to the guitar. "Okay, thanks."

I came back over to Gerard, sitting in the black chair by his desk, strumming a bit. "I haven't played in a while..."

He just smiled. "That's okay."

I looked down at the guitar, running through a few chords, not really knowing what to play.

"Do you write your own music?" he asked after a few minutes.

I nodded. "Yeah... I mean, kind of..."

His head tilted to the side. "Play something you wrote, then."

I looked up, startled. "Now? I don't know..."

"Oh, uh, it's fine, if you don't want to. I just thought, maybe-"

"No, no," I said awkwardly. "I just... I just don't know what to play, is all."

He glanced around a bit and for a few minutes, neither of us said anything.

"So, where is everyone?" I asked.

"Oh, my mom probably took Mikey out to eat somewhere. They should be back soon."

"Oh. Okay."

Conversation died out for a good minute or two- thunder crashed outside, making me jump.

"How long is this storm supposed to last?" I asked timidly.

Gerard shrugged, glancing out the window next to his bed. "I don't know... Let's go check the news."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven - Gerard's POV  
"Tomorrow?" Frank groaned as the weather report switched to local traffic, flopping his head back. His head hit the back of the couch, nearly hitting where my hand rested. "How the hell am I supposed to walk home through a storm? I don't even like being inside when it's storming!"

I gave him a sympathetic look. I knew how it felt, having to face phobias. It felt like you were going to die. "You can stay here until it's over, if you want," I offered, not even thinking about it.

He looked up, hazel eyes wide. "Oh, I couldn't do that, Gerard, I-" Thunder crashed outside, the windows shaking, and he jumped, eyes going even wider. "Okay, okay, never mind," he rushed, stumbling through his words. "I'll spend the night here, it's only one night, right?"

"Right," I said, offering him a sad smile. I hated seeing him scared. He looked so weak. "I'm sure my mom will be fine with it. I hardly ever have visitors and she's always telling me to be more social- she'll love you, trust me. Do you want to call your mom?"

"Y- yeah... Let's wait for your mom to get home first, though. Just to be sure it's alright."

"Okay. But like I said, I know for a fact that she'll let you stay."

"Okay." He blinked at me for a few seconds, and then smiled. "Thanks, Gerard. Really. I probably would've fainted if I had to walk home through the mess going on out there. It means a lot."

"No problem," I smiled back. "I understand."

He grinned. "So, wh-"

The front door bursts open and my mom walked in, singing loudly. "Gerard," she sang, off-tune and overly exaggerated. "We're home! You forgot to lock the door back!"

I rolled my eyes as Frank burst out laughing. My mom had obviously just bought a new pack of cigarettes- she was always in such a beautiful mood, when she had a new pack of rolled-up death in her pocket. I didn't blame her, though. Every once in a while I would sneak a cigarette from the pack and enjoy a taste of my own demise, too.

It was quite a relaxing experience, breathing cancer into my own lungs.

"Ma," I chuckled as she twirled dramticaly into the living room. "We have company, stop!"

She froze, mid-spin, dropping her arms down to her sides as the bottom of her skirt swirled around her ankles. "Oh? Who is this?"

"Ma, this is my friend Frank. Frank, this is my mom."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Way," Frank smiled.

"Nice to meet you, too, Frank, but please, dear! Call me Mama Way," she winked. "'Mrs.' makes me sounds so old."

Frank just grinned. "Okay, sure."

"Frank needs a place to stay tonight," I said, glancing between my mom and Frank. "Is it okay if he stays here?"

Mom grinned. "Of course!" She turned slightly to the kitchen. "Mikey! Come welcome the house guest!"

Mikey walked into the room, glancing at Frank, and then me, and then back at Frank, looking a bit confused. "Um, hi..."

Frank nodded, waving. "Hi."

Mikey looked at me, and then at our mom. "Uh, I'm just gonna'... Go to my room, so, uh..."

"Go right ahead, dear," Mom said, moving around in that fluttery way of hers, waving her hand slightly. "Oh, Frank, does your mom know you're staying here yet? Do you have a change of clothes? Oh, Gerard, have you two had lunch yet? Do you guys know what you want for dinner? I was going to order pizza, but I feel like we should do something nicer..."

"Ma," I laughed, shaking my head. "You're getting ahead of yourself. One thing at a time."

She nodded, reaching down to the pocket in her long skirt. "Right, right..." She pulled out the pack of cigarettes that I knew she had, and flipped it open. She sent Frank a concerned look. "Oh, do you mind? I can go outside if the smoke bothers you, or-"

"No, no, it's fine, It doesn't bother me."

My mom smiled. "Okay, I'll open a few windows, though. It gets rather stuffy in here when we're all cooped up."

She started walking away, but I called out. "Hey, Ma?"

She paused, turning.

I offered a small, timid smile, holding out my hand. I didn't know if she would let me smoke with a guest in the house, or not.

She sighed, but slipped a cigarette out of the pack and held it out to me. "This is your seventh this week, Gerard. You've gone from one a week to one a day in under a month."

"Yeah, but it's Saturday," I reminded her. "Tomorrow is the start of a new week and I'll be an entire day clean, so maybe I'll go back to one a week."

"You said that last week!"

"And so I was wrong. How do we know that I'm not right, this time?"

My mom just rolled her eyes as she turned, doing an over-exagerated walk out of the room. "I'm such a bad mother," she crooned dramaticly.

"But I love you all the same," I sang, matching her slight laugh with my own.

I could see Frank watching me from the corner of my eye, shaking his head. "Your mother lets you smoke?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

I grinned, sliding my lighter out of my pocket and flicking it open, appriciating the warmth of the little flame as I touched it to the tip of the cigarette, igniting it in a tiny burst of smoke. "She also bought me my own lighter."

Frank just grinned, shaking his head again. "If my mom knew I smoke, she'd kill me."

I just rolled my eyes, lifting the cigarette to my lips and taking a drag, before I had realized what he said. I let the smoke out from between my lips slowly, considering. "So, you smoke?"

"Used to," he shrugged, watching me. "Evidently once the guys from school found out I was only sixteen, I stopped being cool enough to give cigarettes to..."

I scoffed. "That's stupid. Sixteen is a perfectly acceptable age. I would kill to be sixteen again."

He just laughed. "And I would kill to be seventeen, Gerard, but some things can't be achieved with murder."

I laughed, too. "True... So, when was the last time you had a cigarette?" I asked, pressing the very object of our conversation to my lips again, shivering against the taste of nicotine and deadly addiction.

He laughed nervously, shrugging. "A few months ago, I guess."

"When was the last time you craved one?"

He turned slightly pink. "Now, I guess."

I nodded, blowing smoke from between my lips again. "That's what I was guessing." I held the cigeratte out to him, twisting my hand so he could take it without getting burnt. "Here."

He blinked at me a few times. "S-seriously?"

I nodded, reaching over to the table next to the couch and moving the ashtray onto the couch between Frank and I, so that we could both use it.

"But your mom, she won't give you another one, will she...?"

"We can share it." That had been my intention in the first place, anyway. As much as Frank was my friend, I wasn't one to just give away a cigarette.

He hesitantly took the cancer stick from me, bringing it close to his lips. "Are you sure...?"

"I'm positive, Frank."

His fingers were trembling with excitment- he needed the nicotine much more than I did. I got my addiction filled once a day. The last time he had a taste of the deadly attraction was quite some time ago, from the sounds of it.

His shaking fingers slowly placed the cigarette in his mouth, and the instant relief was visable on his face. "God, that tastes nice."

I laughed, grinning at him. "See? I told you."

He just nodded, holding the cigarette between two fingers and letting the smoke out in a slow breath, closing his eyes for a second. "Do you think your mom will mind, that we're sharing...?"

"She won't," I assured him, watching him smoke. There was a certain gace, to smoking, that not many people possesed. Frank had that charm, though. Instead of looking like he was commiting the long, much drawn-out suicide that smoking was, it looked like he was making love to the addiction.

He took another drag, nodding a bit, before handing the ciggarete back to me.

I just smiled, raising it to my mouth.

It tasted different, now that Frank's lips had touched it.

Not a bad different.

I don't even think that there was an actual difference. I just knew Frank's lips had touched it, so in my mind I guess I was adding whatever I imagined Frank to taste like to the flavor of the nicotine.

"So," my mom said, re-entering the room, cigarette dangling from her lips. She reached up, removing it from her mouth. My mom didn't possess the grace that Frank did. She didn't smoke for pleasure, she smoked for the addiction. "Do you need to call your mom, Frank?"

He nodded, glancing at me. "Yeah..."

I leaned over and picked the home phone off of the reciever, handing it to him. "Here."

He eyed the cigarette as he took the phone, dialing his own phone number. I slipped the cigarette from between my lips and passed it to him, and he blushed a bit, sending my mom a nervous glance.

She didn't even seem to notice, though. She was too busy going back to the kitchen, calling to me over her shoulder. "So, have you boys had lunch?"

"We have," I said, trying not to be too loud as Frank's mom seemed to evidently answer the phone. Frank started talking quietly, sighing with annoyance every few seconds.

"What do you guys want for dinner, then?"

"Uh, I don't know, Ma... I was just kind of thinking salad, or something... Frank is vegitarian, anyways, so..."

"Oh! Okay, then! Salad it is!"

And then she fell silent, the only sounds her moving things around in the kitchen and Frank sighing at his mom.

"Okay, okay. I get it, mom. Whatever." He took an angry drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke out in an annoyed breath. I was amazed by the fact that even when he was angry, the way he pressed his lips around the cigarette was still so... Well, so attractive. "Bye."

He hung up, handing me the phone and not meeting my eyes.

"Everything okay?" I asked wairly, setting the phone back in it's spot.

He just closed his eyes, pressing the cigarette to his lips again. "It's fine. My mom is just being... Well, herself."

"Oh."

He held the cigarette out to me, rubbing his temple with his other hand. "H- here."

"Keep it."

He wiggled his fingers slightly. "No, take it. Those things will be the death of me."

"Frank, keep the cigarette. You need it."

Besides, I liked watching him smoke far more than I liked the taste of nicotine.

He sighed, but didn't argue any further, placing it between his lips again. "Thanks," he muttered quietly.

"No problem."

My mom came into the room again. "So, Frank, I guess you'll be needing a spot to sleep... Which do you prefer, the couch, or I could maybe bring a few blankets into Gerard's room?"

He removed the cigarette from his mouth quickly and my mom sent me a glance, her eyebrow arched slightly. I knew that look. It was the 'since when did you start sharing cigarettes?' look. I just shrugged in response.

"Uhm... I don't know... It doesn't really matter, I guess..."

I glanced around the room. "There's less windows in my room," I observed. "There's only one, actually. There's three in here."

"Your room, then."

My mom glanced between us, confused.

"I'm not exactly the biggest fan of storms," Frank explained, cheeks turning slightly pink as he took one last, slow drag from the cigarette and then put the tiny bit of it left out into the ashtray.

"Oh, well, that's understandable," my mom grinned. "I was the same way when I was younger... I'll just go dig up some blankets and whatnot..."

She disapeared again, making Frank chuckled a bit. "Is she always like that?"

"Moving around a lot? Yeah..." I looked at him for a few seconds before grinning. "You in the smood for sharing another cigarette? I know where her last pack is hidden. I think there might be one left."

"Yeah, okay," he laughed, nodding.

\---

"Gerard?"

I leaned over the side of my bed, looking down at Frank. Last night after dinner, he'd chosen to sleep on the side of my bed furthest from the window, on top of a few blankets. We hadn't managed to find a spare pillow, but I always had two on my bed, so I just spared one and let him use it for the night.

"Yeah?" I whispered, blinking down at him.

"Wh- what time is it?"

"Four twenty-eight in the morning."

He blinked at me a few times. "O- oh."

We were both silent for a second and then he rubbed his face, squezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry for waking you up so early. It's just, th- the thunder woke me up, and I was- Well, I..."

"It scared you?"

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip slightly. "Yeah... Still, s- sorry for waking you..."

"No, no, it's fine. I was already awake..."

"Oh, uh, okay..."

I tilted my head. "Frank, are you okay?"

He shrugged a bit, flinching as a bolt of lightening lit up the room.

I sighed, slinging my legs over the side of the bed and sinking down to the ground.

He blinked a few times as I shuffled around next to him. "What are you doing...?"

I shrugged, stretching my legs out and laying on the ground. "If you're scared, I can lay down here with you."

He stared at me. "Oh, Gerard, you don't have to-"

"I insist."

We just stared at each other for a second, and then he moved around a bit, too, and then suddenly there was a blanket covering my shoulder. "Here," he murmured, looking everywhere but me. "At least share the blanket."

I sighed, pressing my face against the short side of his pillow, so I could stay close enough so that he could still have the majority of the blanket. "Okay. Thanks."

We fell silent for a while, and I closed my eyes, even though I knew I wouldn't fall asleep. I couldn't fall asleep. Not with Frank here. Especially not sharing a blanket with him. I'd have a nightmare, I'd move too much, I'd wake him up and probably scare him, too.

Exactly three minutes after I thought he had fallen asleep, his fingers brushed my cheek, jolting my eyes open.

"Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

He blinked at me through the dark. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He just stared at me. "For everything."

I gave him a small smile and he returned it through the dark. "Don't thank me," I said. "Just take it as it is."

Over the next hour and twenty-six minutes, I didn't sleep at all. I didn't have much to do besides think and watch Frank sleep. Normally at night when I can't sleep- whether it's for instinces like this, when I'm afraid that I'll wake someone if I do, or if it's because I simply can't fall asleep, it doesn't differ much- I think. I run through scenerios in my head, I ponder over events of the day, I calculate how long, exactly, I had spent alone that day.

I think, when I'm all alone in my head. Sometimes I start thinking about things that I shouldn't think about. Sometimes I think about what the point in even thinking anymore was, sometimes I think about life and how in the grand scheme of things, in however many years, my existance will no longer matter, and sometimes I think about how I've slowly begun to lose my mind, and sometimes, I get sad, and often, I enjoy these bad thoughts, and often, I have more of them.

Not tonight, though. Tonight I didn't lose myself in my own head. I had Frank as a distraction.

I suppose most people would find watching someone for an hour and twenty-six minutes boring. I suppose most people would start thinking about other things.

But not me, not while I had Frank as a distraction.

I knew that we hadn't known each other for long, but there was just something about the way his hair fell around his face as he slept and something about the way his breathing steadied itself to the same pace as mine and something about the way he still smelt of cigarettem smoke that caught my attention almost immeadiatly.

Frank just had that effect on me. He was already a very strong presence in my life, one that was very distracting and very pleasant to be distracted by.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Frank's POV  
I woke up fairly early, considering it was the weekened. There was a dim light coming in from the window, but it was still raining, so it was hard to tell exactly what time of day it was for sure. I stared at the window for a few moments, hardly believing that I had slept through the storm. I shifted stretching my legs and, letting out a groan as I forced my eyes all the way open. For a few seconds I was too confused to function- I wasn't in my own room, and I most certainly wasn't in my own bed.

Everything smelt of cigarette smoke and my back was stiff from sleeping on the floor.

"Goodmorning."

I craned my neck to the side, meeting Gerard's hazel eyes.

He smiled a crooked, sleepy smile, that I returned, lifting my hand in a small wave. "Hi," I said tiredly, blinking a few times. "Goodmorning."

He laughed, eyes scrunching up in the corners, nose wrinkling slightly. "Hello."

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, sinking back against pile of blankets that had become my bed last night. It wasn't the most comfotable bed in the world, but it worked. It kept me comfortable and that's all that really mattered.

Something touched my face and I opened my eyes as Gerard's fingers flicked a piece hair out from in front of my eyes.

I grinned tiredly at him. "Even in the morning, you're still concerned with hair?"

He shrugged, smiling back. "I'm always concerned with hair. I'll probably still be concerned with hair when I'm dead."

"Yeah? Well, you obviously haven't seen yours this morning."

"Oh, really? What's wrong with it?"

I studied his face for a minute, just shaking my head and laughing. Everything, just about, was wrong with Gerard's signature unnaturally red hair this morning. It was all tangled and knotted up, instead of framing his face like it normally did.

"Here." I reached over, dragging my fingers through it until it lay smooth, tucking stray strands of it behind his ear in a lame attempt to tame it. Some days I wondered how on earth he managed to keep it flat at all. His hair seemed to have a mind of it's own, sometimes. "That looks better. Kind of. When was the last time you washed it?"

He smiled, reaching up and running his hand through his hair, practicly destroying my 'hard work.' "A few days ago... Well, more like a week. Thanks, though."

I laughed. "You're welcome."

Gerard reached over, doing to something to my hair again. "Yours won't stay down..."

"Don't worry about it. It normally won't in the morning, anyways."

He continued to mess with it for a moment before dropping his hand. "Is that your natural hair color?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "Black's a nice color on you."

I smiled. "Thanks."

He just smiled back.

I tilted my head to the side, studying the tired look in Gerard's eyes and the way his smile faltered, quite obviously sleep-deprived. "You really stayed down here all night, didn't you?"

He rolled onto his back, making me cringe at the sound of hardwood floors beneath him. I had blankets and stuff to sleep on top of, and I wasn't even comfortable. How on earth had he managed to not just get up and move?

"Yeah," he said, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "It wasn't too bad, though. It's eight, now. It was just over four hours that I was down here, so..."

"How on earth did you get any sleep?"

"I didn't."

I stared at him, before flicking him on the shoulder. "Gerard, why didn't you move back to your bed? Every day for the past, like, week and a half you've looked like shit, and it's all because of a lack of sleep, and yet you chose to sleep somewhere where you know you won't get any sleep?"

He sent me a sympathetic glance that I didn't understand. "I didn't want you to get scared again."

I sat up, annoyed, running my hand through my hair. "I would've been fine... I'm not a child. I don't need looking after." Sometimes I hate my phobias more than I hate the things that I'm afraid of. They were always causing trouble for the people around me.

Gerard sighed and then sat up, too. "I'm not trying to treat you like a child, I just-"

"I'm sixteen," I said defiantly, my voice trembling slightly, trying to prove to the both of us that my phobias weren't nearly as severe as they actually are. "I'm almost all grown up, Gerard. I can protect myself."

He pulled his knees up to his chest and then rested his chin on his knees as he wrapped his arms around his legs, sighing. "I know, Frank. I know you are, and I know you can. But you can't protect yourself from fear. No one can prevent fear from getting into their own head. It's an emotion, our brains are hardwired to process it and spit it out in all the worse ways."

"Then-"

"But if there's someone else there to distract you, you don't noticed the things that scare you nearly as much. And Frank, I just don't want you to get scared, okay...?"

I mimicked his sitting position, meeting his eyes from over our knees and processing his words. "Fine. Whatever. Just... Next time I stay over, don't do something stupid like that, okay? Sleep in your own bed. If I get scared I'll tell you, and then once I go to sleep again we can both go back to where we started."

"Okay. Sure. That works."

We blinked at each other for a few minutes. I studied his hazel eyes, attempting to figure out what he was thinking about.

"So, what do you want to do today?" I asked finally, giving up on cracking into that brilliant mind of his.

"I don't know... That's a good question." He glanced around his room for a few seconds. "There really isn't much to do in here..."

"What do you normally do on the weekends?"

He nodded to the piano behind him. "Practice. You?"

"Anything and everything," I laughed. "Anything that's doesn't bore my to death."

Gerard laughed, too. "Let's go find something like that to do, then. But get breakfast first... I'm hungry."

"Me too..."

He held his hand out to me and I took, letting him pull me up. We got thrown off balance and went stumbling, bumping shoulders and tripping over feet- our own or each other's, it was hard to tell- and went tumbling to the ground. Gerard's eyes went wide as his back thumped the hard wood and I landed on top of him, laughing as I rolled off.

We layed there on the ground for a seconds before we both started laughing.

I'd come to love the sound of Gerard's laugh- he had a very distinct, boyish laugh that made me smile.

"Let's try that again," I suggested, grinning at him.

He just smiled. We stood up, extremely careful this time. "Okay, that worked a little better."

"Yeah," I agreed, stretching a bit as I stood up straight.

Gerard walked over to his dresser, pinching the fabric of the flannel pajama pants he had on and at the bottom of his t-shirt. "I should probably change out if my pajamas... Hey, uh, do you need a change of clothes?"

I glanced down, frowning at the slept-in jeans and shirt. I'd been wearing them both since yesterday morning. Between the now-dried rain from running through the beginning of the storm yesterday, the cigarette smoke, and everything in between, I probably didn't smell the best, either. "Yeah... That'd probably be a good idea."

Gerard nodded as he pulled open one of the drawers of his dresser and ruffled through the fabric, pulling out some clothes for himself and then handing me a pair of jeans and an old, faded band t-shirt. "Here... Those are the smallest clothes I have... They'll probably be a bit big on you, though." He tilted his head to the side, grinning. "You know, I've never noticed how short you are."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"Aw, look, you're blushing," he smiled.

"I'm not blushing! I don't blush!" I lied. "I'm just... Red with embarrassment, is all!"

"Which is the same thing as blushing..." He crossed his arms, lips tilted up in a smirk as he leaned against his dresser. "You do that a lot, actually. Blush, I mean."

I was probably even pinker than I was before. "I do not."

"You do, though."

"When?"

"Just... A lot. I wonder why..."

"I do not blush!" I huffed, crossing my arms right back at him. "Give me a single example of a time when I have blushed besides right now."

He tilted his head to the side, thinking. "Yesterday, when we were sharing the cigarette..."

"Okay, that's one tim-"

"When something about you being vegitarean comes up."

"Well-"

"And you turned pretty pink yesterday, too, when- well, when you put your head on my shoulder."

I rolled my eyes. "You'd be pink, too, if you had done that-"

"I wouldn't, actually."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm not homophobic or anything-"

"Well, who said I was?" I argued.

He raised an eyebrow. "No one. Now you're just being overly defensive."

"Overly defensive? I'm not the one randomly bringing the topic of homophobia into the conversation!"

"You wouldn't be getting defensive if it weren't a topic you felt strongly about, Frank," he said.

I fell silent, staring at him. He was right- it was a topic I felt strongly about. "I'm n- not gay, or anything, but you're right... It's just that... Well, I guess I've always been a strong believer in loving whoever you love..." I could feel my cheeks turning pink, and could almost tell that he was adding it to some mental list of how many times I blushed. I fleetingly wondered how many of those he had about me- how many mental lists did Gerard have about boring little Frank Iero? He certainly seemed to have a lot of lists about other things, so of course I would be somewhere in those lists. I sighed, forcing my mind back to the topic at hand. If I wanted to talk about my opnion, I needed to focus. I wasn't good at this whole 'love' thing. I wasn't good at thinking about it, I wasn't good at talking about it, I sure as hell wasn't good at actually going out and falling in love and being in love and staying in love. "I guess I just don't think that anything else should matter, if two people really love each other. They shouldn't worry about what other people think. They should just... Love."

Gerard nodded. "Y- yeah... It's more or less the same for me."

"More or less?"

He shrugged. "With the exception of a few things, yeah..."

I blinked, feeling my fists tense up. "What exceptions do you have, then?" I swear, if Gerard has a single thing against-

"Just something you said towards the begining."

I froze. The beginning? What had I said in the beginning? "I'm n- not gay, or anything, but you're right..." I could feel my eyebrows pull together in confusion. That couldn't be... Could it?

"You're gay?"

He sighed, un-crossing his arms, only to lace his fingers behind his head. "No."

"Then-"

"I don't label myself as so, at least... I guess some people would call it that, but..."

"But what?"

He dropped his arms by his sides again. "I'm not gay."

"Okay..."

"But I'm not exactly 'staight,' either."

"I- I don't understand..."

I don't think I've ever been more confused in my life.

If you're not gay and you're not straight, then what the hell were you?

"We can talk about it later," he said, standing a little straighter. "My sexuality isn't relevant, anyways."

"But-"

"But it won't change anything, right? Either way, we'd still be friends?"

I nodded. Of course, if Gerard were gay, I'd probably be blushing a lot more. I've been around people who are gay before, I know that for sure, but I've never been around someone like that as much as I was around Gerard.

"Can't you tell me, though?" I pleaded. "If I'm your friend, doesn't that give me a right to know?"

"It doesn't give you a right to anything, Frank," he said, shaking his head. "It just gives you a reason to support my choices no matter what, right?"

I sighed. "Right... But... Will you tell me, one day? Eventually?"

He nodded. "When there comes a reason for me to tell you, I'll tell you. Until then... Just take me as I am, okay? I've had enough of people making assumptions about me, I don't-"

"I'm not going to make any assumptions," I assured him. "The only thing I need to know is that you're Gerard and you're my friend. I know those things for sure. Everything else is just... Well, a little bonus, I guess."

He smiled, one side of his lips pulling higher than the other. "Can I hug you, or would that make you uncomfortable, now that you know that I'm not exactly the straightest crayon in the box?"

I laughed, grinning and setting the clothes that I hadn't even realized I was still holding on his desk. "I'm not going to protest a hug, Gerard."

He sat his clothes down, too, and smiled a bit again before hugging me. I sighed, wrapping my arms around his torso. It'd been a while, since I'd hugged anyone, especially like this. Most hugs I've ever had were just the short, 'nice to see you again,' hugs. This hug was a nice change, though.

"Thank you," I said, resting my head in the crook of Gerard's shoulder.

He laughed. "Why on earth are you thanking me?"

I shrugged, leaning away and looking up at him. "I don't actually know."

He messed with my hair, letting out a slight chuckle. "Don't thank someone for things that they didn't do. Then you start oweing false favors."

I sighed. "Well, fine then. I'll wait until I do have something to actually thank you for."

He grinned, pushing me away slightly. "Just get dressed, Frank."

I rolled my eyes, bumping his shoulder with mine. "You just want to see me strip, don't you?"

He winked, throwing his head back and laughing. "You know it, baby."

I felt my cheeks heat up, even though we were both just kidding.

Gerard's mocking smile grew wider as we both peeled off our shirts to change. "You're blushing again," he observed.

"I am not!"

"My new goal in life is to make you blush."

"Gerard-"

"Nope. That is, from this point on, my sole purpose in life; to make Frank Iero blush."

I sighed, tugging the shirt I was borrowing from him over my head. "You're never letting this go, are you?"

"Nope. Never."

"What are you going to do when I stop being embarrased by what you say?"

He paused, shirt half-way over his head. "Well, if I run out of things to say, I guess I'll just have to start finding things to do, won't I?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine - Gerard's POV  
Frank's birthday came and went- he refused to do anything special for it. In the end I finally convinced him to come to my house for the weekend and to let my mom make him a cake. He understood that I couldn't afford a present at the moment... And I understood that I would still buy him one, anyways.

"You haven't taken that thing off since I gave it to you," I observed, almost a month after his birthday. (It was late November already- we had stopped leaving the house without our jackets, and I had started drinking a peppermint mocha every day in replacement of one of my cupsof coffee in honor of the holidays. Frank was slightly more in the holiday mood than I was, though.)

He just grinned, tugging the end of the sleeve of the dark green cardigan so that it stuck out beneath his grey sweatshirt's sleeve. "I have! You know that. I washed it at your house last time I was over, remember?"

I laughed. "Frank, you complained about being cold the entire time, and then stole my favorite sweater until the cardigan was out of the dryer, and then you stole every blanket off of my bed and sat in a grumpy heap on the floor."

"And then I made you make me hot chocolate," he grinned.

I nodded. "And you also forced me to turn the heating up by like five degrees... So, yes, I do remember," I rolled my eyes, sticking my hands in my pockets as we walked.

"Speaking of which, did you want that sweater back? It's somewhere in my room but it might take a while to find it..."

I blinked at him. "Wait, you still have it? I've been looking for it all week!"

"Well, you should have just asked! Half of everything you own that goes missing is in my house, anyways."

I almost laughed, but he was right. Since we had become friends I'd lost track of what in my room belonged to him and what belonged to me, and he'd borrowed so many different pairs of clothes that half of my closet is probably missing.

I think he was wearing my jeans at this very moment, actually. I glanced down, trying to figure out if they were or not. I'd practiclly given him all of my old clothes- every pair of jeans that were too small for me that I'd been meaning to give away git him pretty well.

"Are those mine or yours?" I asked.

He shrugged, looking down, too. "I have no idea."

I laughed. "What would you do if one day you woke up and I had taken back all of the clothes that belonged to me?"

He shrugged, laughing, too. "I probably wouldn't have anything to wear. The only laundry I've done lately was washing stuff at your house when you force me to help you."

I just shook my head, not sure if it was at him or at myself. I've been seriously considering just sending a stack of clothes home with him, one day. He was constantly stealing mine- one minute he'd have his shirt on, and then I would leave the room and come back to find him wearing one of mine. He claimed that mine were softer. He also liked clothes that were too big for him, anyway, I had found. He didn't like wearing my old shirts as much as he liked the ones that fit me now.

"It's hard to believe that Thanksgiving is tomorrow," I sighed, pushing the thought away.

"Ugh, I know, right? Christmas is sneaking up too fast..."

"Christmas? I was thinking more like, 'fall is going away too fast.'"

Frank just shrugged, glancing around. "I don't know. I kind of prefer winter over fall."

"But your birthday is in fall!"

He rolled his eyes, bumping my shoulder with his. "You know I hate my birthday."

"You seem to enjoy gifts, though. That cardigan is practically your skin now."

"Yeah, because it's warm and fuzzy... Much unlike you."

I pouted at him. "Oh, what? I'm not a sufficient supply of body heat?"

"Your soul is ice, Gerard," he declared.

"Ah, yes, but that had nothing to do with body temperature."

"Well, how am I supposed to know what your body temperature is?" he said haughtily, trying to sound smart.

I threw my arms around him suddenly, making him stumble a bit.

He laughed, getting the message. "Okay, okay, you're warm, I get it." He reached up, peeling one of my arms off of himself and allowing me to leave one arm over his shoulders.

I sighed, resting my head on top of his. "It's nice having a short friend," I decided. "You make a good armrest."

He glared at me but grinned, knowing I was just teasing. He had stopped blushing quite some time ago about height, and it was getting harder and harder to make him blush.

"Hey, Frank?"

He looked up at me, eyebrows arched slightly. "Yeah?"

I quickly leaned forward before he could protest and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, making him let out an annoyed squeaking sound. He was fifty shades of embarrassed and adorable.

"You're blushing," I sang.

"Ge-rard," he whined, dragging the individual syllables of my name out. He was wiping his cheek with his sleeve, nose scrunched up.

"Mission accomplished!"

"But-"

"Nope, as long as I keep a record of once a day, I'm succeeding, Frank. Making you blush is getting hard but it's worth it."

He just glared at me playfully again. "One day you're going to run out of things to do and the whole cheek-thing won't work anymore."

"Oh, I'll find something," I assured him. "I promise now that there won't ever be a day in your life again when you don't blush."

He sighed. "Gerard, what on earth am I going to do with you?"

I slung my other arm around him again, crossing past his chest and lacing my fingers together on the other side of his body, resting my palms against his shoulder. "Keep me around forever and continue to steal my clothes and food?" I suggested.

Frank just looked up at me, smiling. "Forever?"

"Yep."

"You know that that'll never be long enough."

I grinned and we walked on, falling into silence for seven seconds too long.

"Gerard?" Frank said seriously.

"Yeah?"

"This is nice."

I raised an eyebrow, not sure if I was understanding. "Wh-"

He was turning pink again. "Just, having a friend and all."

I grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

It had been so long since I had had someone like Frank around me. The most social I got was hanging out with Mikey, but that was never for too long, anyways. As much as I enjoyed being around my brother, we've been slowly growing apart for years now. He's still the same kid he always has been, but I've been growing and changing and I don't think he's noticed that I'm not the same kid I was four years ago.

I'd been through a terrible bout of depression for a while, I still don't think I'm completely out of it, but things were slightly better, now. Mikey was still... Well, he was still the happy, but timid, little kid he had always been.

We walked on in silence and eventually both of my arms dropped from around Frank- to my surprise, he almost looked like he wanted to protest the lack of contact. I blinked a few times, trying to read his expression from the corner of my eye.

I stretched my fingers out, brushing the back of my his hand, and to my surprise he turned his hand around, sliding his fingers through mine.

It had been far too long since I had held someone's hand. My thumb stroked across the back of his hand, something I hadn't really meant to do, but something that Frank didn't seem to mind. He shivered slightly, pressing close against my side. "I'm cold."

"Me too. I think my mom was making soup though."

Frank licked his lips, nearly subconsciously, from the looks of it. "God, I love your mother's cooking."

I laughed. "One day I'm going to wake up and you're going to have just moved in."

"That's actually a good idea..."

I grinned, rolling my eyes. "What on earth have you been telling your mom?"

"A lot of things... On the weekdays she thinks I'm at the library doing homework, weekends she thinks I'm with my girlfriend."

"But you don't have a girlfriend."

He laughed. "That's why it called a lie, Gerard... But with the amount of attention you demand, I might as well be engaged."

"I do not demand attention," I protested.

"You do though! We can't go like five minutes without you doing something to make me look at you."

"Well, that's not because I like attention."

"Then why is it?"

I considered for a moment. "I'm not even sure. But it's not for attention. If I wanted attention I would dye my hair blue- that's why it's red right now."

"Really?"

"Yep. For attention... Just to stop being the kid in the back of the restaurant that no one ever looked at. But it's starting to wear off- no one notices because it's so familiar, now."

Frank tilted his head to the side, squeezing my hand. "Well, I notice. Isn't that enough?"

I laughed, coming across more bitter than I meant to. "I'm human, Frank. Humans are dirty creatures. We want the whole world to notice us. No matter who you are or how old you are, no matter how badly you blush when put in the spotlight, everyone secretly craves to be noticed. What would be the point in living if there was no one to put on a show for?"

He studied the side of my face for a moment. "Has anyone ever called you a genius, Gerard?"

I laughed again. "I've been called a faggot before, but I'm sure that they mean no where near the same thing."

Frank sighed, shaking his head. "I hate people who use the word. First of all, it's offensive. Second of all, you can't just tell someone's sexuality by looking at them."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. "Yeah..."

His eyebrows went up a bit. "Speaking of which..."

I rolled my eyes, chuckling slightly. Frank had been trying to pry my sexual orientation out of me ever since he found out that I wasn't 'straight.' "I'll tell you later."

"Later? As in... Later today?"

I sighed, looking at him. "Yeah. I guess. Since you're evidently never going to drop it."

He looked down. "Sorry... I'm just... Curious, you know?"

I nodded, understanding. "Yeah. I know. I'm just not really used to talking about it, I guess."

We fell into silence after that and came up to my front door. I fumbled with my key a bit, not used to opening the door with one hand, but not wanting to let go of Frank's hand.

Once I had it open he practically pulled me inside, smelling the soup my mom was making.

"Food!" Frank exclaimed instantly.

My mom laughed, looking over her shoulder at us. "Hey, boys. You're in early."

"Frank got hungry," I explained as he tugged me across the room. He looked like a puppy, our linked hands the leash, as he shuffled shamelessly around the kitchen, poking around the various things my mom had laying on the counter.

"Give me half an hour," my mom grinned.

Frank pouted. "But I'm hungry."

I just rolled my eyes, pulling Frank by the hand. "Come on, you can wait."

He sighed, but followed me. From the corner of my eye I saw a fresh pack of cigarettes open on the kitchen table as we left.

"Hey, mom, can we-"

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed. "That's for you two."

I faltered for a second. "What?"

"The pack," she said, shrugging. "Frank is seventeen now, you boys are responsible, nearly adults. You steal half of my cigarettes, anyways..."

I just grinned, picking up the pack of cigarettes. "Thanks Ma."

Frank grinned, too. He picked up the ashtray. "Thanks Mama Way."

She just smiled, shaking her head as she went back to her cooking. "You're welcome, boys. Consider it an early Christmas present."

I practically dragged Frank back to my room, half-running. We stumbled and tripped, but laughed as I clumsily pushed more door open. "If you don't let go of my hand I can't open the cigarettes."

Frank's fingers slipped from between mine as I peeled the packaging off of the pack and opened it, sliding a cigarette out.

I felt my hand falter. Normally Frank and I shared cigarettes, when my mom was kind enough to spare one... Now that we had a whole pack...

Frank seemed to realize, too. "Oh... I... Uh..."

I blinked, not quite knowing what to do.

"We can still share, right?" he said. "It saves an entire cigarette and we won't choke on the smoke."

I nodded. "Okay... That sounds good."

I sat the pack down on my desk and fumbled with my lighter as Frank slid my window open, so that the smoke could escape.

"You know," I said quietly, lifting the cigarette to my lips. "I kind of like sharing cigarettes."

Frank nodded. We sat on my bed, like we normally do when we're bored and don't have anything to do but stare at the ceiling and smoke. I sat leaning against my headboard and pillows, and Frank sat about a foot in front of me.

"Yeah," he agreed. "There's something... Nice about it."

I passed him the cigarette.

"So," he asked, holding the stick of mass-produced suicide between two fingers, close to his mouth. "Are you going to tell me-"

"Not now."

He blinked a few times. "What?"

"Can we not talk about that right now?"

His face fell and he took a slow drag from the cigarette, looking confused. "But you promised that you would tell me..." He glanced over his shoulder. "The door is shut, your mom can't hear you, if that's-"

"My mom knows-"

"Then-"

"-but I'm not sure if I want you to know."

Everything about him was confused and angry and hurt. His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion but his finger curled in slight anger, and his hazel eyes were a thousand shades of accidental pain.

"Gerard..."

I sighed, running my hand through my hair.

I needed a cigarette.

I needed a cigarette, I needed coffee, I needed both, I just needed something physical to hold in my hands and I needed something between my lips. I was getting angry and annoyed and I needed my veins pumping with the false happiness of nicotine and caffeine. I didn't like talking about my sexual orientation. I hated it, actually. I was so used to being judged and made fun of for it that I instantly got defensive.

"I just don't see why it matters," I snapped finally. "I don't see why you should care if I like boys or girls or both or none."

"Because I'm your friend," he argued. "Gerard, I care about you, okay? I just want to be able to be there for you no matter what, and-"

"Well, what's your sexual orientation?" I said angrily. "You said that you're not gay, but are you straight?"

He faltered for a second. "Wh- what? What are you-"

"Don't talk about me, Frank. This isn't about me anymore."

I was being selfish. Just because I felt uncomfortable, I was forcing my discomfort on Frank.

I didn't regret it though. I was hurting him but it felt so much better for me.

I looked at my hands for a moment, disgusted.

I'm human.

It's in the human nature to be selfish. It's something I can't change about myself. I am alive, and therefore, I have these horrible desires and wants and needs, and when it all boils down to instincts, I don't care about anyone else. I just want myself to be happy and I want to survive and that's about it.

The human part of me didn't care about Frank's feelings. The only part that did care was the moral part, the civilized part that had been forced upon me by society. I only cared because I had to, and as much as I hated to admit it, that was the truth and it always was. Even though I wanted to care for other's emotions, when it all came down to basics, no one but me mattered.

Frank stared at me, cigarette shaking between his fingers. He noticed, too, and stared at his trembling hand for a moment before passing me the cigarette.

I took it without objection, placing it between my lips as I stared at him.

He was looking everywhere but me.

"Frank?" I said, taking an angry but much needed drag from the cigarette.

Lovely, isn't it, how society rolls suicide into a nice little package for us? They tell us not to jump off of bridges or play with guns, but the moment death is put into chemicals and smoke, and then rolled up into a nice little stick and labeled with some fancy brand name that brings in money and profit, it's all okay.

Frank wouldn't look at me.

"Oh, what, so it's okay to ask me about personal things but once it's about you it's all suddenly so-?"

"Gerard, shut up."

I just looked at him.

His eyes were starting to water. He looked up at me, holding my gaze.

"I don't know, okay?" he whispered.

I stared at him, taken aback. The human part of me had not expected that, and neither had the civilized part. Neither halves of me knew how to handle it. "What?"

"I- I don't know."

I didn't understand.

"I used t- to just like girls, b-but..."

I blinked. I didn't know what to say or do or even where to look. "Frank, are you okay?" I said finally.

He shook his head.

And then he broke.

He shattered, he broke, he shook and he trembled and everything went quaking and shaking and all of a sudden he wasn't even himself anymore, he was just this wreck of skin and bone and tears that couldn't make sense of his own emotions.

He was crying.

I had never seen Frank cry before.

I didn't like seeing Frank cry.

I put the cigarette out in the ashtray, which I now noticed Frank had sat on my bedside table, and then hugged him.

I didn't know what else to do.

The human part of me was saying to hug him and the civilized part of me was saying to tell him that it was okay, so I did both.

He was shaking, he was trembling, his eyes were watering and I just wanted to tell him that it would all be okay, that as long as I was here he'd didn't have to cry. It didn't matter that much, Frank's sexuality. You like who you like, you love who you love. Society puts too much pressure on kids to label themselves, and I had to remember that Frank was almost an entire year younger than me. A lot could change, in a year. I had had an entire year more than Frank to grow and learn and figure out life. Compared to me, Frank was still just a kid.

His eyes were closed and he pressed his face against my shoulder, still crying.

I held him tight, rubbing tiny circles on his back with my fingers, trying to sooth him. I wasn't good at these types of things. I didn't know how to comfort people, I didn't know how to make them feel better. I was only human, after all.

"Don't cry," I whispered, closing my eyes. "It's okay..."

He just trembled and shook and let out a small sound, a slight whimper that sent my stomach lurching.

"Talk to me Frank," I begged. "Talk. It'll help."

He pulled away, looking up at me with those sad eyes. He used the sleeve of his cardigan to wipe his face and I sighed, helping him wipe away the tears. I had one hand on either side of his face.

"Tell me what's wrong."

He looked down and I dropped my hands.

"I- I don't..." His breaths came out all shaky. "I don't know. I just- I don't want-"

I took a deep breath. This whole 'comforting' thing was really kind of annoying. "Okay, let's start with... With..." I just wanted to start at the root of the problem, get it all over with. "You're attracted to girls, right?" He nodded weakly, and I nodded, too. "Okay, so, we know that much... But what about... What about liking boys?"

His bottom lip trembled a bit. "That's wh- where everything gets all- it's when I get confused, I mean, when..."

"Confused how?" I touched his hand and he clung to it instantly, squishing my fingers. "What confuses you?"

He shook his head, wiping under his eyes again. "I.. I just... Well, everyone- I'm... I'm just not supposed t- to find guys attractive, I never have before, so why should I now...? But I- I am, I'm- I think I'm starting to like boys, and I- I just don't... I mean, I don't understand, Gerard!" He broke off with a slight wail in his voice and I sighed.

"Come here," I whispered, scooting back until my back was against the headboard of my bed. Frank moved to sit next to me, and I put my arm around him, not quite knowing what to say. He put his head on my shoulder, sniffling a bit. I let out a soft breath, tilting my head and resting it on top of his. "Frank, do you know what the word 'pansexual' means?"

He shook his head.

He looked so young, in that moment, so small and weak and scared.

"Pansexual... Well, it means, more or less, that you don't have a gender preference when it comes to attraction. I- I consider myself to nearly be gender-blind. I don't care if someone is a boy or girl, or even if they're transgender. If I find someone attractive, then... Well, I find them attractive. I don't set limits on who I like and who I don't like. There are several girls that I find attractive at the moment, and there's boys, too, and... And, well, that's it, really."

Frank was very quiet.

We sat in silence for a while and I felt my own words swirling through my mind, crashing through my thoughts. There are several girls that I find attractive at the moment, and there's boys, too, and...

And, what?

What had I been about to say?

I didn't know anymore. I had the thought in my head, I knew it was there, I just chose not to go searching for it because I didn't exactly want to know what it said.

"G- Gerard?"

"Yes, Frank?"

We both shifted, sitting up slightly. His fingers still clutched tight to mine, his eyes stared blankly down at our hands.

"I- I think... I know, now, I mean. I- I'm..."

I ran my thumb down the back of his hand, trying to offer some comfort.

"I think I'm gender-blind, too," he whispered. "That's a lot easier to say than- than-"

"Pansexual?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

I looked at him for a long minute. "Frank? Why... When did you figure all this out, I mean, how long...?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've always just liked girls, I mean, it wasn't until... Well, it wasn't until I met you, I- I guess, and..."

I squeezed his fingers between mine.

His voice was so quiet that I'm not even sure if I actually heard it, or if it was just my imagination running wild. "And I guess I just- I never started doubting anything until now because I- I'm kind of- of- attracted to you, I guess..."

My body froze but my insides went into a frenzy. The human half of my brain was screaming, telling me to react, the civilized half was confused and scared. I could feel the mixing emotions in my stomach, a physical pain that twisted my insides into one giant knot and sent the confusion up my throat.

"What?"

He turned red, eyes getting watery again. "I- you- just- damn it, Gerard, I don't know what to say!"

"Then say what you said before again!"

He stared at me for a few moments. "I'm kind of attracted to you, I- I guess..."

I didn't know how to reply.

That was twice, today, that Frank had put me at a loss of words.

Gerard Way is never at a loss of words.

"It's okay though," he said quickly, pulling his hand away from mine. He looked down. "It's... It's just a stupid crush. I'm... I mean... Well..." He laughed for a second, running his fingers through his hair. His cheeks were flush with embarrassment. "I can get over it."

"Why would you want to get over it?" I said without even thinking about it.

He fell silent, but his fingers said everything as he took my hand again, his shaking slightly.

"You don't have to get over it," I whispered.

"B- but, Gerard..."

"It's a mutual attraction, Frank."

He blinked at me, processing my words. It was okay that he paused, though, because quite honestly, I needed to sort out my thoughts, too.

Had I just admitted to finding Frank attractive?

I suppose I had. I'd never looked at Frank as something to be attracted to- he was a friend, he was more than likely straight, and he most certainly didn't seem to be attracted to me.

Now that I started thinking about it, I was attracted to Frank. I was very, extremely attracted to Frank. He was small and cute and funny and nice, and he was the first person I had met in a long time that was willing to be my friend. I was human, I have to keep reminding myself. Attraction is a part of human behavior, so of course I was attracted to him. In the grand scheme of everything I was attracted to anyone human enough to fuck, and it was just the fact that I had preferences that kept me wanting certain people.

And Frank, well, he was one of those certain people.

I studied the side of his face for a second, and realized, with an overwhelming force, just how much I was attracted to him.

Frank was the most adorable fucking thing in the world, now that I was allowing myself to think that way.

"What now, then?" he asked. "Where do we go from here?"

I shrugged. "We go wherever we want to, I guess. The attraction is our starting point, let's start there and run with it."

He just nodded a little, lips parted slightly in a confused sigh.

For the first time since I met him, the words god, he's cute when he's confused, floated through my head without guilt.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten - Frank's POV  
To say that Gerard was careful with me would be an understatement. Gerard, from the moment we admitted our mutual attraction, treated me like I could shatter at any moment.

Not that I minded. It was probably true- I was new to this. I wasn't at good at being with a boy in a relationship, I wasn't good at relationships, period. I was still sorting out my own emotions, so dealing with someone else's wasn't exactly on the top of my list right now.

What had made me admit that I liked him, I still can't figure out. I don't know when it happened, either. I'd never seen Gerard as a romantic interest, but I'd also never put him off limits to myself in that way. Gerard to me had never been just a friend, but I had never quite allowed myself to look at him as something more, either.

Until now.

We sat in silence for a moment, both of us thinking about our conversation.

"So," Gerard said. "I guess..."

"I guess... We're..."

"Um."

We blinked at each other and then both laughed for a few moments, breaking the tension.

"We're at an agreement here?" Gerard asked quietly.

"Agreement?"

"That we're, uh... How do people put it nowadays? 'An item?'"

I laughed.

"Yeah, I think that's what people are calling it."

"So..."

"I guess we're... Together?"

Gerard smiled that small, half-smile that made me smile, too. "Yeah, there's a good word to describe us. 'Together.'"

His hand squeezed mine.

"What do you want to tell your mom?" I asked. "I mean, I'm over here everyday, anyways, so..."

He shrugged. "Let's not say anything. If she figures it out, she figures it out."

"And Mikey...?"

"Same for him."

I nodded. "I don't... I don't think I want to tell my mom. Not yet. Not now."

"Okay, that's fine. I understand... This is just beginning, we have all the time in the world."

We both went quiet again. Gerard leaned towards me, pressing his lips quickly to my cheek.

I felt the blush rise up in my cheeks. "Gerard..."

He grinned. "Are you going to blush every time I do that?"

"Probably."

"Then expect it to happen a lot more often."

He did it again, lips lingering just a second too long.

Just then Gerard's mom called from the kitchen, distracting us both. "Boys!" she yelled. "Food is ready!"

We stood up and made our way to the door, fingers still twined together.

We ate dinner like that, too, our fingers laced beneath the table. Every few minutes Gerard would send me a look that reminded me that it was all okay.

I just squeezed his fingers and smiled.

I was scared, but I wanted this. I really did. The more I thought about Gerard and our friendship the less weird a relationship with him seemed.

\---

After dinner, we went out and sat behind Gerard's house, setting a blanket over the grass. Gerard sat up against the house, legs stretched out, and I laid out on the blanket, resting my head near his hip.

"The ground is very uncomfortable," I observed, picking at the blue plaid blanket beneath me.

"Then don't lay on it, dumb-ass," Gerard chuckled, playing with a few strands of my hair, twisting them gently around his fingers.

I flicked him in the leg. "But I want to lay down, and the ground is the only place to do that."

He rolled his eyes. "Frank, come here."

"But-"

"Frank."

"But I want to lay down!"

He laughed. "There's another way to lay down if you just shut up and think."

I closed my mouth, sighing. "Okay. I'm thinking. My options are... The ground... And..."

"What else is in a four feet radius of you?"

I glanced around, turning back to him, arching my eyebrows. "All I see here are you, me, and this blanket."

"Okay, and you've already ruled out the blanket..."

I rolled my eyes, sitting up. "If you wanted me to move closer to you, you could have just asked."

I sighed, standing on my knees and turning myself around before settling back down in his lap.

He grinned, wrapping his arms around me. I leaned my head on his chest, stretching my legs out, somehow making myself comfortable even with our legs all tangled up.

"That wouldn't have been half as fun," he breathed, nose touching my ear. His fingers brushed down the side of my face, tracing the lines of my jaw.

I shivered. Human contact was unfamiliar, but nice. "I wish we had started this whole 'togetherness' thing a long time ago. You're an incredibly good natural heater." He laughed, resting his chin on top of my head. His arms were looped around my waist, and I smiled up at him. "You're an incredibly comfortable seat, too."

All he said was "Mmph."

From the angle I was at, I saw his eyelashes flutter as he closed his eyes.

"So," I said, suddenly realizing an important tidbit of information. "Every time I've changed in front of you..."

He smirked a little, chest vibrating as he chuckled. "So, we've seen each other in our boxers, whatever. We're even."

"But I didn't know you liked me, that's-!"

"Don't forget that you liked me, too, Frank."

I glared up at him playfully. "I feel violated."

"Oh, that's not violation..." I flinched slightly as he spoke, his fingers sliding across my stomach, brushing the top of my jeans. "You would have known it if I violated you."

"Gerard," I said, my voice squeaking slightly as his fingers came too close to the fabric of my jeans again. "Don't do that."

He chuckled again, resting his hand on my stomach. "I won't. I like you Frank, but not quite that much yet."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Same..." The idea of anything beyond just hugging and touching with Gerard made me instantly uneasy. I was a boy, he was a boy. It wasn't natural for me. I wasn't used to this...

We fell into silence, the only sounds for a few minutes the sound of his breathing and the chirping of the birds from the trees in his backyard.

"This is nice," I breathed, watching the cold air catch my breath and paint it silver, swirling it away in a frosty gust of wind.

"Yeah."

I sighed, closing my eyes and letting his body heat warm me. "Gerard?"

"Yes?"

I shifted until I could see his face. "Why are we... I mean... Just, why do you think we're so comfortable with this? We just started the whole 'togetherness' thing, so..."

He shrugged, looking at me. "I'm not sure. I suppose it's because we were already so comfortable, so... I mean, if you want, we can slow down, or, um..."

"No, no, that's not the problem..." I felt my cheeks get warm. "I- uh, I don't mind physical contact, I was just wondering."

"Oh."

He tilted his head slightly to the side, smiling, one side of his smile reaching higher than the other. "You're blushing again."

"I am not-"

"You are, though," he laughed. "It's okay. You're cute when you blush." He reached over, touching my hair and smoothing it down. I was probably red at this point. He laughed, fingers skimming down my face, down my neck, dripping off of my shoulder.

It was just one touch, but it sent my head reeling

"You know, since we're together and everything... Maybe we should go on a date, or something," he suggested.

"A date?"

He nodded, still smiling. "Yeah. Tomorrow's Christmas, but I think there's this little place downtown that will still be open... We should go out for lunch."

I nodded, too. "Okay."

There was a short pause.

"So, when you said you don't mind physical contact..."

I rolled my eyes. "I obviously have my limitations, Gerard-"

"As do I."

"-but I'm not going to object to most things."

He reached out, skimming his fingers down my face again. "That's good. I'm not good at reading emotions but I'm good at reading bodies, Frank. The closer we are the better."

The way he said my name made me shiver.

\---

Our first date basically consisted of sitting in Gerard's bedroom. It had started snowing and Mama Way refused to let us out in 'such disastrous conditions.'

"You boys can create your own fun, can't you?"

Gerard just nodded, grinning and pulling me with him back towards his room.

"You look a little too happy after just finding out that our first date was canceled," I observed gloomily.

The second we were in his room, he shut the door and spun to face me.

"So," he said. "What do people do on first dates?"

I blinked at him. Why was he asking about this...? "They eat, talk..."

He stood in front of me, reaching for my jacket. I let him slip it off of me, his fingers brushing down my arms.

"You're almost right."

"Then what do people do on first dates?"

He smiled, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"The eat, they talk, they touch. Just little touches, but touches all the same..."

"Okay..."

"First dates are nothing but tongue and touch and sound," he said. "So if we want to make up for a missed first date..."

I blinked at him. "Um... I don't follow."

He laughed, eyes lighting up. "Ah, your ignorance is so beautiful, Frank! If we want to make up for a missed first date, all we have to do is talk and touch and eat."

I rolled my eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"Well, since you refuse to go home for Christmas, our dinner won't be ready for another few hours, so until then, we talk and touch."

He disgarded his jacket on the floor next to mine and took my hand, pulling me over to his bed. We both removed our shoes before sitting down.

"How, exactly, do people touch on first dates?"

Gerard shrugged. "They brush ankles, they touch hands, maybe arms. I've seen it a hundred times- it's all flirting and seeing how much you can get away with."

"But we do all of that stuff anyways."

"Which is why I'm proposing for something else."

My eyebrows went up slightly. "Oh, are you, now?"

"Yep."

"Okay, what are you suggesting?"

He grinned. "What do people do at the end of first dates, Frank?"

I felt my cheeks get warm. "They kiss."

He laughed. "Yes, but that't not what I'm talking about. I just mean talking."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and my mind got stuck on kissing.

Did I want to kiss Gerard?

I'd never kissed a boy before. The only kiss I'd ever had was with the only girlfriend I'd ever had, nearly a year ago.

My fingers still shook at the though of even being with a boy, but kissing sent my whole brain into a frenzy. As much as I was attracted to Gerard, I was also extremely scared.

I decided against it. I didn't want to kiss. Not now, not anytime soon. Eventually, though, I guess I would have to.

"So, talking?"

I nodded, smiling, and we talked.

We talked and talked, we talked for hours, until our dinner was done.

We talked about a lot of things. I told him about the things that my mom had been recently yelling at me for, from never being home to my recent decision to buy skinny jeans.

"What's wrong with skinny jeans? Half of what I own are skinny jeans," Gerard frowned.

I shrugged, rolling my eyes. "It's my mom, Gerard. She doesn't even like the way I cut my hair, I'm pretty positive that no matter what I do she's going to call me worthless for it."

He sighed, ruffling my hair with his hand. "If it helps, I like your hair." His fingers brushed my knee, the fabric of the pair of jeans that belonged to him. "And I haven't exactly seen you in skinny jeans that fit before, but you wear mine pretty damn well."

I laughed. "Well, thanks, Gerard."

We moved on from the topic, just talking about various things.

A few hours later and we had completely changed our seating arrangement- Gerard was laying diagonally on his bed, and I was laying at a strange angle, too, my head on his chest. He was running his fingers through my hair as I talked, nodding every few seconds and putting in his opinion or a suggestion of some sort. It was nice having someone to talk to- normally when I speak, no one listens.

"Frank," he said suddenly, making me pause.

"Yeah...?"

His eyes closed and he sighed, making my head move slightly.

"Can we be quiet for a few minutes? It's not that I don't like talking, it's just that my head hurts..."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I understand."

He smiled, nodding.

I scooted myself up on the bed, laying next to him. He stayed on his back, one hand on his stomach and the other holding mine, and I curled up next to him, pressing my forehead against his shoulder.

I don't remember how long we laid there, but I fell asleep.

\---

"Frank."

Someone's fingers brushed my arms, making me sigh.

"Wake up," Gerard urged.

I shifted around. "But-"

"Frank, dinner is ready..."

I sighed again, forcing my eyes open. He looked tired, too. I was guessing his mom had just woken him up. He sat on the edge of his bed, hair ruffled, shirt wrinkled. He didn't bother to fix either of them.

"Come on," he whined slightly. "I'm hungry."

I chuckled a bit, but tried not to be rude. "I like hearing you say that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because you don't eat enough."

He rolled his eyes, taking my wrist and pulling until I sat up.

"Come on, Frankie..."

"Frankie?"

He smiled. "Yes."

I rolled my eyes, shuffling off of the bed and yawning. "That was a nice nap."

He grinned. "Fix your hair, you look like an idiot."

"Fix yours, too."

He just laughed, but did as I said and smoothed his hair out, watching me smooth mine.

"Ready?"

I reached over, straighting his shirt out, and he just chuckled a bit. I nodded, admiring my own work. "Okay, let's go. What did your mom make?"

"Well, I know she made ham..."

I wrinkled my nose.

"And she also made something for you, Frank, don't worry."

\---

After dinner, the four of us- Mama Way, Mikey, Gerard, and I- sat in the living room, close to the family's large, excessively decorated Christmas tree.

Everyone opened gifts and I watched the family with a smile on my face. I didn't mind not being home for Christmas- I knew what my mom had gotten me. Clothes and some books that I'd never heard of and didn't want to read. Nothing really mattered beyond the gifts. We never ate in the same room- we couldn't stand each other for that long. It was the same every year.

Mama Way and Mikey sat in chairs, and Gerard and I sat on the couch, using each other as furniture. One minute Gerard's feet were in my lap, the next minute I had stood up to get something and then sat back down in his. We stayed like that for a while, but after a few minutes, Gerard decided to randomly flop to the side, dragging me with him, and we laid like that, his chest pressed against my back, for about half an hour. After that, we were both stretched out on our backs over the couch, my head on his chest, and then we were laughing and pushing as Gerard tried to sit on me, claiming that he wouldn't squash me, even though I was almost positive that he would. Eventually I ended up pushing him to the side, forcing him to sit next to me instead of on top of me. To make up for it, he decided to continuously touch me, whether it was his hand on my leg or my arm, or even going as to so far as to randomly lay down with his head in my lap.

By the end of the night, all of the family's gifts had been open, Gerard and I had successfully sat in every physically possible position, Gerard had triumphantly sat on me for a total of five minutes before I decided that I couldn't breath, and I ended up sitting in his lap again.

"So," I announced suddenly, twisting to look at Gerard. "I got you something..."

Gerard grinned, looping his arms around me. "That's good because I got you something, too."

I laughed. "Okay, that works..."

I looked as Mama Way. "I gave it to you yesterday, right...?"

"Oh, and can you grab Frank's, too?" Gerard asked.

She nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Gerard gave me a look, raising an eyebrow. "Kitchen pantry, top shelf?"

I stared at him. "How did you-"

"That's where I put yours, too."

I rolled my eyes, flicking his shoulder. "Don't steal my gift hiding spots."

He just laughed, wrapping his arms around me a bit tighter, lips brushing my ear.

It was strange being like this in front of Gerard's family, but he didn't set limitations and they didn't seem to mind. We touched and talked, just like he had said earlier.

Mama Way came back into the room holding two gifts- one which I recognized, the other which I assumed was for me.

She handed them to us and then we traded, sending each other glances from the corner of our eyes so we wouldn't miss a second of each other's reactions.

Gerard's face broke out in a grin as he opened his, looking up at me. I'd gotten him a scarf- it wasn't much, I know, but it was what I could afford and what he had been complaining about lacking for weeks. It was stripped, black and gray, so it more or less matched everything he owned.

He threw his arms around me, pressing his face into my shoulder. "Thank you," he grinned. "Really, it's perfect."

I just smiled, hugging him back slightly. "You're welcome," I said, soft, feeling myself get warm. I was blushing and I knew everyone in the room could see it.

He planted a discreet kiss on the back of my shoulder, a private little thank you that his family couldn't see, smiling up at me in a way that made me feel immensely happy.

I finished unwrapping mine, feeling a grin break out across my face. He'd gotten me two things- two small things, but two things all the same.

One was a black guitar pick, on a chain. I picked it up, studying it. There were tiny red letters on it, ones that sent another blush rising in my cheeks. It was just our initials, nothing more, mine on one side and his on the other, but it was by far the cutest thing anyone had ever done for me.

"I did that last night," he said, keeping his voice quiet, smiling timidly. "It was a last minute decision."

I just grinned, holding it by the chain for a second before I decided to put it around my neck. I picked up the other thing he had given me, a pair of black gloves.

"Is this your way of telling me to stop complaining about my hands being cold?"

He laughed. "Maybe."

I just grinned, hugging him. "You're the best, Gerard," I said. I brushed my lips against his shoulder, timidly. "Thank you."

He just smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Gerard," I whispered, burying my face in his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Frank."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven - Gerard's POV  
I was slowly pushing the limits of our relationship. It wasn't that I wasn't content with the little touches and kisses on the cheek, it was just that as of today we had been together for a full four months. I had this nagging curiosity that was driving me insane, and my body was craving physical contact.

Four months, now. Four entire months.

That was a third of a year.

Frank was still always so nervous- he still trembled, sometimes, when we held hands. I wanted to kiss him but I didn't want to break the careful trust we had.

My room had become his, more or less.

He knocked before he came in, however, like always, and I sighed. "Frank, you don't have to knock anymore."

He came in and shut the door behind him, blinking at me. "Okay..."

I shifted slightly on my bed, to the side. "Come here. Lay with me."

He did as I asked, slipping off his shoes first, and then sitting next to me, curling up slightly.

"Gerard?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

I closed my eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine."

His fingers brushed my cheek. "Are you sure?"

I took a shaky breath. "I'm fine, Frank. I'm not wrong about my own emotions, that would just be stupid."

He sighed, resting his hand on my chest. "Okay. You just seem..."

"I don't 'seem' anything. I 'am.' I don't mask my emotions."

He stopped talking after that.

I felt momentary regret for being rude, but I didn't really care. I was angry. At what, I wasn't actually sure, but I was mad and that was enough. I was angry and I was upset and I was sad, and I hated everything and everyone and myself.

Ugh, how pitiful am I? I'm drowning in a sea of self-loath and I don't even have a reason for it.

Realizing that I didn't have a reason to be in such a foul mood just made it worse.

I felt like I wanted to throw up.

"Your mom and Mikey are out," Frank said suddenly, leaning forward. "Let's go sit in the living room. Smoke a cigarette. It'll help take your mind off of things."

I wanted to argue but I went with him, anyways.

We sat in silence for a long time, Frank curled up in my lap with his head on my shoulder and my arms looped loosely around him. We passed the cigarette back and forth. I wasn't in the mood for talking- I just wanted to touch and smoke.

I pressed my lips behind his ear, drowning in the feeling of our skin brushing, closing my eyes as I traced careful kisses down his jaw.

"Gerard," he said quietly, taking a drag from the cigarette.

"Yes?" I whispered, breathing in the second-hand smoke, touching my nose to his neck.

He looked embarrassed. "Can you not... Uh..."

I blinked up at him. "What?"

He ducked slightly, looking away. He put the cigarette between his lips, mumbling around it. "Can you just not... Do that?"

I felt the realization settle in my stomach. He didn't want me to touch him anymore than I had to. "Oh."

He looked down. "Sorry, I'm just..."

I sighed, shaking my head, trying not to look too frustrated. I didn't want to get angry with him- I just had hormones, was all, and they were being particularly annoying today. "No, whatever. It's fine."

He was flushed twenty shades of sorry, and every pink and red hue made me want to kiss him. He handed me the cigarette and I thankfully accepted it.

"I'm sorry that I'm so, uh, reserved, it's just... I'm not used to all of this..."

I resisted rolling my eyes, breathing the smoke out through my nose. "Well, how are you ever going to get used to it if you don't start trying new things?"

He was quiet for a second.

"I mean, really," I continued. "You can't ever get used to it if you don't at least try it."

He looked at me for a long second, blinking. "You're right..."

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't expected him to agree with me. "I am?"

He nodded. "Yeah..."

I wasn't sure I understood where he was going with this, but he certainly seemed to know.

His lips brushed my jaw, taking me by surprise. I lifted the cigarette to my lips, trying to force away the confusion with nicotine. For as long as Frank and I had been together, he had never once made a move to touch me beyond holding my hand. His fingers rested shakily on my collar bone and he twisted in my lap, using my shoulder to lift himself up. He pressed his lips to my cheek for the first time, everything about him scared and shaking.

I put my hand on the side of his face, sighing, the other hand pressing the cigarette to my lips. "Frank, stop..."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. "No, I have to face this sometime. You can't have a relationship without touching."

"But-"

He stood up suddenly. "Let's go back to your room, in case your mom and Mikey come in."

"But Frank-"

He took my hand, pulling me with him, pausing only so I could put the cigarette out.

As we walked, I found myself infatuated with him.

I'd never wanted to remember someone like I did him.

I didn't want to memorize the sound of their voices or learn to read their expressions, but I had already done that with Frank. I didn't want to know why they looked so sad when certain things were said, but most of the time, I knew Frank's thoughts before he did. I didn't want to know why they laughed at the senseless jokes that people told, and yet, I knew all of Frank's favorite forms of humor. I didn't want to know why they didn't like a certain flavor of ice cream, and I honestly could care less if they liked musicals or not, but I knew senseless things like that about Frank. I didn't want their names sticking in the back of my head, I didn't want to know their favorite songs or their favorite books or their favorite day of the week, and I didn't care if they liked history better than math, and I didn't care what they wanted to be when they grew up- I didn't want to bother myself with the people they disliked or the people that they loved.

But with Frank, I was extremely involved in all of that already.

There was one simple fact that I had known and believed all my life: The only person who's inner most thoughts really mattered were my own.

According to statistics, I would only be alive for a total of approximately seventy-five years, give or take a few months.

That meant I had fifty-eight years left to live.

Fifty-eight years to have my own emotions, my own thoughts, and my own opinions.

Fifty-eight years was not a long time.

Fifty-eight years is barely enough time to process every thought, every emotion, every opinion that I've ever had and will ever form. Most people stopped trying because they realize that they only have one chance at life, and they don't want to waste it analyzing thoughts.

I did want to do that, though.

I wanted to fully explore every possible outcome of every possible situation and I wanted to discover every possible answer to every possible equation. I wanted to know why living organisms could feel the sensation of touch when in reality it's impossible for atoms to get that close. I wanted to know why we felt pain if, according to the scientist, it's just a chemical reaction in our head. I wanted to know why emotions are so often connected with our heart when in science emotions are apparently nothing but chemicals and hormones rushing through our bodies, and I wanted to know how to shut down the emotions that made me hurt.

I wanted to know how reality exists when over half of it is just in our heads.

I wanted to do everything in that fifty-eight year span... I wanted to do everything and learn everything but I also wanted to do nothing and keep the blissful ignorance that so many people possessed these days...

But fifty-eight years is barely even enough time to prepare myself for my own death.

I needed that entire fifty-eight years if I wanted to make something of these thoughts that were always swimming around in my head. I needed every last second that could be spared.

There was no time for anyone else.

There never has been, and I doubted that there ever would be.

But I wanted there to be time for Frank.

Couldn't I do that? I realized that I had been asking myself that ever since Frank had walked into my bedroom this morning.

Couldn't I trade half of my estimated remaining time for Frank?

Twenty-nine years of my life isn't that big of a loss. I don't mind dying twenty-nine years early, not if it means learning to be with Frank. I am a naturally selfish creature, but I didn't want to be selfish anymore. I don't mind not understanding the world around me if it means trusting Frank and being with Frank and having his hand in mine. I wouldn't mind staying ignorant for the rest of my life if it meant I had a chance at falling further into whatever this mess was that we were creating for ourselves.

I just wanted to know Frank. I wanted to get inside of his head, I wanted to understand him, I wanted to be able to seep down deep beneath his skin and pull out all of the bad things that haunted his dreams. I wanted to take the nightmares out of his subconscious and put them in my own. I already had such horrible nightmares, anyways, adding Frank's demons to mine couldn't possibly change anything. We didn't talk about it often, but Frank had mentioned depression before. He said he hadn't felt depressed very much lately, but I could tell when he was sad. He didn't smile as much, and when he did, it didn't quite reach his eyes. He lied about being happy a lot. (But then again, so did I.)

I wanted to save him from that. I wanted to save him from the monsters that lurked beneath his very own thoughts.

I could almost feel it then, through our linked hands, all of the dark, black things seeping through his blood like oil in water.

I could drain that, though. Frank's heart didn't have to be gray and darkening every minute, not anymore. No, I could cleanse his blood stream of all of the ugly things and drink it straight into my own.

I would easily give up twenty-nine years of my life and the pureness of my own heart for Frank.

Easily.

Hell, I'd cut off a limb for that kid.

Because... Because I needed him.

Wait.

No.

No, that wasn't the right word.

I don't think I needed him...

If he weren't here, I could manage. I was able to live without him before, so surely I could live without him now.

I wanted him.

That's what my problem was.

I wanted him with a burning passion that settled deep inside of my chest and started eating away at my heart. I wanted him and I wanted everything that he had to offer; I wanted the stupid conversations late at night when we mulled ourselves over pointless topics, I wanted the insecure shaking of his fingers, I wanted the way he fumed and cursed when he was angry and I wanted the way he smiled and laughed when he was happy.

I wanted him. All of him.

I wanted the quirks and the habits and the emotions and the opinions that annoyed me, and I wanted the flaws and the depressions and the pain that he hated about himself. I wanted to be there for him, no matter how much he annoyed me or no matter how much he annoyed himself.

I didn't want Frank to hurt anymore.

I didn't want him to feel like he had to hide from the world, I didn't want him to shy away from all of the people and places that he was missing out on. He was so timid the first time we met, and I didn't want him to feel like that.

I didn't want Frank to be afraid anymore.

I wanted him to feel like he was wanted.

I wanted him to know that I wanted him.

I wanted him all to myself. I wanted Frank to be mine and no one else's- I was the only one responsible for his blush, I was the only one that made his fingers stop shaking when he was scared. Frank's emotions already belonged to me but I wanted everything else to come with it, too.

I craved for him. I craved him like a mother craves her child's love and I craved him like a child craved his mother's attention.

But I couldn't tell Frank that.

Oh, god no, I couldn't tell Frank that. I stared at the back of his head as he pushed my bedroom door open and led me inside. I was his friend. I was his best friend, his only friend, the first friend he had made in the past seventeen years, according to him. Frank trusted me. He trusted me to be there for him... Not to want him. Not to crave him. He didn't want me to have this monster-like obsession that was so suddenly taking me over. We were together but I don't think he was emotionally there yet, he didn't quite grasp the extent of human emotions and how chemicals could set things off oh-so quickly in our heads.

If I confessed how badly I felt the need to protect him, to be with him... If I were to tell him that I wanted to be completely and undeniably and uncontrollably in love with him, as badly as I did, and if I admitted how badly I wanted to fall head over heels for him until I lost myself in those hazel eyes... Well, that would ruin everything.

I would have crossed the already thin line that he had set for our relationship, and I knew that he'd never let me back in.

And that hurt.

Realizing that I wanted Frank more than anything I had ever wanted before, and knowing that I could never have him, seared me to the very core.

It tore apart my insides and sent a horrible feeling straight through my stomach.

It was an extremely physical pain, and it pressed up through my intestines and through my stomach, and it heaved it's way up through my throat and put pressure behind my eyes and forced a sound from my lips that I had no control over.

I was crying.

I was crying and I was sobbing and I was leaking these desperate, desperate tears, and my fingers shook, and it hurt everywhere. It hurt in my head and it hurt in my limbs and, oh, god, it hurt in my heart, too. I was crying like I did when I was alone and couldn't sleep, like I cried when I was stuck screaming in my own head, but this was worse. It was much worse, horribly worse, impossibly worse. It was so bad that I couldn't even breathe, I was suffocating on my own sorrow.

I was worried what Frank would say, but he didn't even notice at first, his back was still turned to me. Only seconds had passed since he had pushed my bedroom door open, but it seemed like ages.

I wanted him with every ounce of my very being. I wanted to feel him next to me and I wanted his fingers between mine and I wanted, oh, god, I shouldn't even go there, but I wanted his lips against mine more than I had ever wanted anything in the whole wide world. I craved to for him to be mine.

I wanted to love him.

"Gerard?"

He had turned around.

I'd never wanted to love another human being in my life.

"Gerard? What's wrong?"

Love was a useless emotion. All it achieved was anger, pointless attachment, and pain.

"Why are you crying, what happened, what's wrong?"

I just shook my head and dropped to my knees, not knowing what to say or do or how to act. Fingers were pressed against the back of my neck and also against my chest, and he was trying to force me backwards, he was trying to make me look at him, but no. No, no, no, I wouldn't. I couldn't. I would never-

Our eyes met and I cried harder than I have ever cried in my life.

"I'm sorry," I gasped through the tears, feeling like a fish out of water, shaking my head. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get oxygen to my lungs fast enough, I couldn't get oxygen to my veins, I couldn't get blood to flow through my arteries. Everything was malfunctioning, nothing was working, I was dying, dying all because I was crying over him. "Frank," I forced out. I would die here. "Oh god, oh, Frank," I had to make my last words count.

"Gerard, wh-"

"I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

There, I said it.

I could die in peace now.

I continued to cry, my shoulders heaving. It felt so nice, crying what I'm sure were my last few moments away. There was something relieving about the way my chest heaved.

I stared at the ground, watching it convulse beneath me as I shook, my head going light.

Was this it?

Was this what it felt like?

Did everything get dizzy, did your head feel empty and your chest heavy and did everything else quake so uncontrollably that all you could do was lay there and cry?

Was I dying, or was I falling in love?

"You're sorry for what, Gerard?" he said, scared, confused, desperate.

Oh, god.

Oh god, oh no.

No.

No, no, no.

No.

This wasn't happening!

It couldn't!

I shouldn't let this happen!

"Frank, I need you to leave," I gasped through the tears.

I guess I wasn't dying, after all.

"What?"

But I don't think I was falling in love, either.

"You heard me! You need to leave!"

"I'm not going to-"

"Please!" I nearly screamed. I was doubling over and my forehead touched the floor. I was clawing my fingers through my hair and screaming for him to go, because, oh god, I had to end it here. If I let myself be around him any longer I'd just end up hurting him, and I didn't want that.

I had to leave him because I didn't want to break him.

If I reached out and touched him he would shatter.

"It can't happen like this," I cried.

"I can't feel like this!" I screamed.

I've always had so much control- I was always able to keep track of my thoughts and keep my emotions in check, but that was all until Frank came along. He'd found a way inside of my head and he was ripping that careful skill to shreds.

"You can't feel like what?"

I just let the tears all come out in shaky gasps.

He didn't leave. Frank just sat there with one hand on my back and one on my shoulder, crouched next to me until my shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, looking up at him. I almost broke into tears again, my body lurching, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."

The sad look in those honey-hazel eyes of his was gorgeous. He was devastatingly beautiful.

"Gerard," he said softly. "For what?"

I shifted my body until I was sitting completely on the floor, moving my legs slightly so they were tucked off to the side. I felt like a little kid, looking up at him as he sat on his knees in front of me, wiping beneath my eyes with his thumbs.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, keeping his hands on the sides of my face.

I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek into his hand, sighing. His fingers ran through my hair and I felt myself let out a shuddering breath.

"Gerard," he whispered.

I opened my eyes only to see his in front of mine, my breath catching in my throat as his forehead touched mine.

"Frank," I breathed. "What-"

"Shh," he hushed, his fingers running across my face. His fingertips dragged across my lips, pulling my skin, and his breath mingled with mine in the air.

"Frank," I repeated. "Don't-"

"No," he whispered, leaning forward. Our noses slid past each other. "I have to do this. Because... Because this is what you want, isn't it?"

I felt my insides swirl into a flurry of motion, while on the outside, my limbs froze up. "What?"

I just wanted Frank. I wanted all of him.

"That's why you're crying? Because you don't think I want you?" He scooted forward and stayed sitting on his knees in front of me. "I do want you Gerard. I want all of you."

I felt my breath catch in my throat. He closed his eyes and I did, too, drowning in his voice as he whispered. My words sounded so much more beautiful coming from his lips then they had been in my head. Then they had been ugly, shaky, forbidden, but now... Now that he was saying them out loud, it almost felt like everything would be okay.

"And it's all going to be all right, Gerard... I think you'd be happy, for once, if- if I-"

"But you don't have to-"

"But I want to."

This was different.

This was very different than the scene I'd pictured in my head.

I hadn't thought that I'd be crying, I hadn't thought that Frank would be the one to initiate it, I hadn't thought that we'd both be scared and shaking with our eyes squeezed shut and our fingers trembling...

But oh, god, did he taste wonderful.

The second our lips touched, though, he jerked away.

My eyes flew open. "Frank-"

"I'm sorry." He pulled his hands away from me, his eyes wide at what he had just done. "Oh, god."

"But Frank-"

He was scrambling to his feet, tripping away from me and shaking his head. His fingers were touching his lips and his cheeks and his forehead, and then they were back on his lips. His eyes were wide and horrified and disgusted.

Disgusted.

Was kissing me really that repulsive?

"Oh, god," he said, his voice low.

And then he was gone. I could hear his footsteps all through my house, I could hear him running away from my room and down the hall. And I guess that my mom and Mikey must have come home because I heard surprised voices and then I heard my mother calling, "Frank? Frank, honey, are you okay, what's wrong?" And then I heard him slam the door behind him.

My mother came up to my room a few minutes later to find me sitting in the same spot Frank had left me.

"Gerard?" she asked softly.

I shook my head, feeling the tears prick at my eyes again. "I broke him," I whispered.

"What?"

"I-I kissed him," I confessed. "And it broke him."

She was just silent for a moment, and then she turned, clicking the door softly behind her.

Of course she would leave. I mean, how should she know what to say to her pansexual son who just broke the first boy he'd ever truly wanted to love? How should she know what to say to someone as horrible as me?

I curled my legs inwards, bringing my knees to my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my legs, sobbing into my knees.

I felt dirty. I felt like I was guilty of much more than just kissing Frank.

I felt like I had committed murder.

And I guess, in some twisted way, I had.

I had just destroyed everything I had with Frank.

I had just committed suicide.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve - Frank's POV  
The walk home from Gerard's house had been a blur- I couldn't even remember what I said to him after the kiss. I just wanted to get away from him before I passed out from embarrassment.

I slammed and locked my door the second I got home. My mom wasn't there but I didn't want to deal with her when she got back; I knew she would ask where I had been all day. I hadn't told her I was leaving- I'd just snuck out as soon as I woke up. I went to the diner, made small talk with the waitress for a while, walked around for a bit, and then ended up at Gerard's house, like I almost always did when I left home. It was either Gerard's house, or sitting at the diner until he came in for coffee, like he had done since the day we first me there. (Some days he didn't even sit with me, though. He would sit half way across the diner and if I happened to catch his eye, he would smile and nod, but then carry on like I just happened to be another regular customer that recognized him. On those days I would stare at the side of his head, wondering why he wasn't talking to me. Other days he would walk right over to me and sit on my side of the booth, a sling an arm over my shoulder. Sometimes he'd sit on the other side of the booth and launch straight into discussion, and we would talk for hours. His mood was so hard to predict.)

I considered going to the diner, just in a lame attempt to keep my mind busy and distract myself, but I was too confused and angry and sad to talk about anything right now, not even about what I wanted to eat, and I didn't exactly want to have to see the table where we first met, either.

I couldn't get what had happened out of my head.

I had kissed him.

My fingers touched my lips for the millionth time as I more or less fell onto my bed, flopping onto my stomach.

I had kissed a boy.

The thought made me physically ill. It wasn't Gerard himself, no, he was far from the problem. I liked him a lot. I liked him a little too much, sometimes. I could easily picture us keeping up a relationship for the rest of forever.

I wanted to be able to stay in a relationship with Gerard, or at least stay friends. I really did. It was just that word, that label that we're all given before we're even out of the womb that was keeping me from letting us become anything more.

It was gender, that troubled me.

"A boy," I muttered quietly.

Gerard is a boy. I am a boy.

And we kissed.

I felt my stomach lurch and I squeezed my eyes shut, stretching out on my bed, kicking my shoes off. I pressed my face into my pillow, trying to force the thought out of my head.

My second kiss, and it was with a boy.

I let out a disgusted sound, not being able to believe myself. I'm such a hypocrite sometimes...

I mean, is that all I've been freaking out over? Gender?

It didn't seem like a big deal, but I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

I didn't give a flying fuck if other people wanted a relationship with someone of the same gender, but it just felt so damn awkward when it was me on the receiving end.

I felt sick to my stomach.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fucking natural. That's what this whole issue was. I was so attracted to him, but it was just so completely wrong. I shouldn't be with a boy. I couldn't be with a boy! That's not how my mind worked now, nor how it's ever worked. I've always been 'straight,' as society has so kindly labeled my sexuality. I was beginning to re-think this whole 'pansexual' thing.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," I mumbled into my pillow.

I seemed to be cussing a lot, today.

I muttered a yet another few more curse words and ran through explanations in my head- why the hell was I attracted to a boy in the first place?

I tried to figure it out, but nothing made sense. The things I knew about Gerard weren't at all the most pleasant...

He's an insomniac, for starters. He's depressed, too. I'm guessing that he has an eating disorder that he's not telling me about, considering how he never seems to want to eat anything. He's a smoker. He has mood swings, and they happen often. He's a tad bit paranoid. Sometimes he was overly sarcastic. Sometimes he was so smart he made me feel like an idiot, and sometimes I think he knows it. He obviously doesn't give a fuck about my education, or his, for that matter, because I was always skipping school because he wanted me to come and do something with him, and he was always sneaking out when his mom was in the other room.

Now that I started thinking about it, there's a lot of things about Gerard that should be shoving me away, but most of them were doing the exact opposite. I couldn't understand why- he was everything that I'd taught myself to stay away from.

He's Gerard, though.

I mean, that's it. There's nothing more to it. The only reason I've ever been attracted to him, was simply for the fact that he was himself.

It didn't make sense, no matter how many times I tried to tell myself that.

I liked him because he was Gerard.

There wasn't one specific thing I liked, but there were a lot of things that I didn't like. Somehow the like and the dislike all smashed up in my heart and turned into attraction.

But I couldn't bring myself to think that way, no matter how true it may be.

I wasn't supposed to like boys.

I wasn't supposed to be attracted to a boy.

I wasn't supposed to find him physically attractive and I wasn't supposed to be emotionally connected to him in the way I was, and I sure as hell wasn't supposed to be touching him or kissing him. Mother nature didn't build me like that- boy's bodies are built to be with girl's bodies and girl's bodies are built to go with boy's bodies and that's that.

My cell phone rang.

I raised my head, reaching over to my bedside table, and picked it up, eyes skimming over the caller ID.

It was Gerard's house phone.

I dropped my cell phone on the pillow next to my head and stared at it. I stared at the caller ID until my eyes were dry and I had to blink to keep from screaming, and my eyes watered, blurring his name in that was neatly written out in a small, digital font. I didn't try to stop my eyes from watering. They were turning his name into a slush of off-focus, blurred light, just visible in the edge of my vision, and I didn't mind one bit. I didn't want to talk to him right now. I didn't even want to see his name on my phone. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never have to see him or talk to him or even think about him, at least for a few days.

The phone rang again, obnoxiously loud.

I glared at it, angrily wiping under my eyes with my sleeve. I hated how watery eyes made me look like I was crying.

I wondered fleetingly why he was calling again.

Gerard didn't call twice. He never called twice.

I'd learned that about him- he would call once, and then leave it at that. If I didn't answer because I was busy, he didn't mind. If I didn't answer because I didn't feel like talking, he understood. If I just didn't get to the phone in time, then I would call him back and tell him that I had gotten there late, and he would just say, "Okay," in that sweet voice of his, and we would start talking about whatever it was that he wanted to talk about. A lot of times, though, Gerard didn't like talking on the phone. The longest we had ever talked was about an hour, but only because my mom had made me go out of town with her for the day and I had ended up sitting in the car while she was inside at whatever business meeting it was that she had to attend.

Gerard wasn't the type of person who called without a reason- he would call me mostly only to ask if I could come over, and I almost always said yes and left my house immediately.

I asked him, once, why he didn't like talking on the phone. He just said that it wasn't as personal, which made sense- I'd found that Gerard liked to touch people when he talked. Well, he liked to touch me when we talked. When we sat face to face he would touch my arms or my hand, and sometimes he would play with my fingers, moving them up and down aimlessly. If we were at the diner he might brush his ankle against mine. If we were laying on his bed, which we did a lot, then he would touch and play with my hair or run his fingers down the side of my face, or down my neck. Rarely he would touch my stomach, to make me squirm; he'd figured out that I laughed when he ran his fingers over the bottom part of my stomach, just above the waistline of my jeans. I wasn't used to people touching low on my body, so it made my skin jump, and I would burst out into this high pitched, nervous laughter that made him grin and me blush.

I realized that that's probably why Gerard liked touching so much, because he liked getting personal. He wanted a relationship like that. He liked talking- he loved talking, actually- but the closer we were the better off he was; he needed to be close to me because it was just how he got to know people.

I sighed, not really meaning to. That's why he'd always kissed me on the cheek, that's why he's always wanted an actual kiss. He needed physical contact. I don't think that he could ever have a proper relationship without it.

I needed someone to talk to and someone to remind me that I wasn't dying- someone to keep me grounded. He needed someone to think out loud to and someone to remind him that he was human, someone who could help to keep his head in the clouds.

I needed someone to pull me down to earth, to keep me focused on surviving, and he wanted someone to dream with, to be distracted by.

It worked, in some twisted way, when I really though about it.

The phone rang a third time and I glared at it again. "Piss off, Gerard," I grumbled, turning the volume down so that I wouldn't have to listen to it ring.

My bedroom door swung open and I was suddenly ambushed by the beehive known as my mother.

She talked fast, and her words stung.

"Who are you talking to? Where have you been all day? Who's 'Gerard?' Why didn't you answer your phone this morning?"

I stared at her for a few seconds, wondering if I should tell the truth or not. Would she believe that I had a friend? Would she believe that he was an amazing guy, that he made me happy? Would she believe that I'm hiding from him in my own bedroom, because I did something stupid?

"Frank?" my mother said again, irritated. She was wearing a dress, something I hadn't seen very often, and had on a lot of make-up.

"Mom-"

"Answer the questions, Frank." She folded her arms in front of her, tapping her foot impatiently. "I have somewhere to be."

"Wh-"

"Answer the questions!"

I glared at her. "Not until you tell me where you're going."

"I'm meeting a friend, if you have to know." She rolled her eyes. "You're so nosy sometimes. I don't understand. You're strange enough, can't you make your own entertainment?"

I rolled my eyes, too, trying not to take it as an insult, even though I'm about ninety percent positive that it was one. "Whatever. And I wasn't talking to anyone- I was just thinking out loud."

She just gave me a suspicious look that made me want to yell at her. "Well, where have you been all day? Why was your phone off?"

I've been with Gerard. With a friend. My phone is always turned off when I'm with him, because I don't feel like dealing with the rest of the world.

"I was at the park. Getting some fresh air. And my phone died, so that's why I didn't call."

She just huffed. "If I find out you're lying you're grounded for a month."

"Okay. Whatever."

She started to leave, but then turned back, looking at me for a few seconds. I hated looking her in the eyes- she'd passed those down to me, the color and shape and everything. I hated seeing any resemblance to myself when I looked at her. I hated how the color of our hair matched and I hated how our eyes looked alike and I hated how our noses curved the same way, too.

She just sent me a look, and then left.

It was a look that made me want to kill myself.

I waited until I heard the front door close behind her, and then I put my cell phone on the bedside table. I curled up in the center of my bed. I just wanted to sleep; it's all I've ever wanted. I love sleeping, because for a few hours, I don't have to face any of the bad things happening during the day.

\---

Waking up felt like being stabbed.

The light made me squint my eyes and my stomach hurt, but I couldn't curl forward to ease the pain because I'd slept so awkwardly last night that my back hurt, too. My arm was nearly numb; I'd fallen asleep on it and now it was tingling with a lack of feeling, something that has never really made sense to me but was torture all the same.

I felt like I was going to be sick, honestly.

I sat up and tried not to cringe as I stretched myself out, my wrist popping and my arm slowly but painfully regaining feeling, and the sore muscles in my back forcing themselves to work correctly.

I glanced around my room, feeling distant. Nothing ever seemed real to me, early in the mornings when I woke up in my own room. Everything was so bright and warm that it didn't seem possible. My white walls glowed yellow with the sunlight streaming through the windows, casting a false happiness over the rest of my day.

I longed momentarily for Gerard's familiar gray dwelling- his room was all black and white and gray and simple, but it was real. It had been lived in, whereas mine had been slept in and cried in. My room was a pocket of bad energy and his was a wealth of some emotion that felt like belonging, but that I couldn't quite put a label on.

I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until I brought myself to go back. How long could I really last on my own? I needed Gerard. I depended on him. As much as I've been scared of a relationship with him, I've always needed his friendship, and I can't deny that.

I didn't know what to do. It was Monday morning and I didn't want to go to school.

The only thing I really wanted to do was curl up in the black-sheeted bed that belonged to Gerard and nap next to my best friend. A wave of something that almost felt like homesickness swept over me, quite suddenly. I was regretting almost every thought that I had formed last night- it wasn't that I didn't want to see him, because I really did, it was just that I was too scared to do anything about it. I had been too much of a push-over to deny him the relationship he wanted, but I've been far too much of a coward to tell him that I don't feel the same way. I didn't want to be in a relationship with a boy, I knew that now, but I wanted friendship and I wanted it forever.

I picked up my phone, reluctantly turning it on, forcing my eyes to adjust to the light. I wasn't expecting there to be any missed calls, besides the three from Gerard last night, but I was wrong.

There were seventeen missed calls, all from him.

He'd only left a voicemail twice- the first time, and the last time.

I listened to them both, not quite sure what to expect.

"Um- Hi."

I blinked a few times in confusion as the recorded voice took a deep breath.

"I really hope I got the number right.This is Mikey, Mikey Way... I- uh. Well."

He paused for a while, leaving me to sit in silence for a second, still confused.

"Just call back," he said finally, voice rushing slightly. "I need to talk to you. About Gerard."

And then it ended.

I quickly fumbled with the buttons on my phone until it played the next message.

"Um, hi, it's me again. It's Mikey. I have to go to bed, mom's yelling at me, so I have to stop calling. But... I just... I really need you to pick up, Frank. It's important. Really important." There was a small pause, and some random shuffling noises in the background. "Gerard says hello." I heard someone in the background let out a loud, protesting noise, and then the message stopped.

If I recognized that annoyed sound, which I absolutely did, I would have guessed that it was Gerard.

But I didn't want to think about him too much, so I didn't make any assumptions. Thinking about him would send that strange emotion that felt like homesickness back into my stomach, and I didn't like that emotion at all.

I tried to not think about the two messages. I understood that whatever Mikey was calling about was urgent, but I also understood that the urgency had to do with Gerard.

I was not at all in a mood for urgency, or for Gerard. Both exhausted me with their ridiculousness, sometimes.

I forced myself to stand, putting my phone in my back pocket as a reminder to check it again later.

I noticed vaguely that the jeans I was wearing and had slept in belonged to Gerard... He wouldn't be getting them back any time soon. I'd also fallen asleep in a plain black shirt that fit me almost decently, but it was impossible to tell if it was one of the larger shirts that were actually mine, or if it was one of the shirts I'd stolen from his closet.

I rolled my eyes, exiting my room. Not thinking about him was hard when I was wearing his clothes.

I mulled aimlessly around my house for a good twenty minutes or so, just kind of walking around and fumbling with things until I realised how eerily quiet everything was.

I'd been awake a full half hour, and no one had started yelling at me or complaining yet.

"Mom?"

No answer.

"Mom?" I dragged out the word, making my voice as annoying as I possibly could, whining.

If there was one thing that got her attention, it was whining.

When she didn't answer, I rolled my eyes.

"If you're here, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop fucking ignoring me."

No one started screaming and lecturing me on my use of profanity.

I sighed, realizing what this meant. I hated when this happened. It's only happened twice in the past few years, but it was horrible all the same, because it had happened a lot when I was younger, and probably even more often before I was born.

My mother had gone on a date last night.

That's why she was all dressed up, that's why her hair was curled in that way that she thought looked nice and that's why she had all that make-up on.

When my mother goes on dates, she goes all the way or no way. One night stands are her speciality- it's how I ended up being born, actually. My mom had a one night stand with a friend who she thought she loved, they got married two weeks before I was born, and divorced shortly after.

Sometimes I really fucking hate the fact that I was an accident, but the rest of my life is so screwed up that I guess it kind of made sense.

I ended up sitting on the couch in the living room, watching but not really paying attention to the news. The only thing the news was good for was mind-numbing information and to hear about other people's problems. Sometimes something interesting happened- a dog saved a kid from a fire, or it's owner from a heart attack, or something cute and heartwarming like that. Otherwise I didn't really give a shit if people in Florida had been robbed or if some star in Hollywood had tragically died last night from a heroin overdose that we all knew was coming. I had enough of my own problems; the only reason I watched the news was for the weather.

"Clear skies, at the moment," the weather woman announced with a smile. "But we're heading into storm season, everyone, and it's starting later tonight."

Storm season.

Storm season.

Starting tonight.

I felt my heartbeat speed up as the television showed a predicted time-lapse of the weather for the rest of the week. Storms in the next town over, today at noon. Storms here by two this evening. They would stay all through the night, and the system would last for three to four days.

I felt myself choke on fear.

Three to four days? I could take three to four days of rain, that was no problem, I didn't give a care in the world if it was raining, or not. But three to four days of thunderstorms and lightening?

No.

No way.

No way in hell would I ever make it through this.

I was going to die. I knew it- I could feel it. Something terrible was going to happen to me, something worse than my mom going on a date and something worse than sleeping weirdly and something even worse than not being with Gerard.

I felt my heart pound with anxiety, my fingers trembled as I rubbed my temples, trying to push away the pain starting in my head.

I didn't want to die, not today, not in the next few days, and not like this. I absolutely did not.

But it was unavoidable.

I was going to get struck by lightening or our roof was going to cave in or thunder would give me a heart attack, or all three at once, and I was going to die.

My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket, scaring me half way to my already impending death.

I didn't recognize the number, but I answered, anyways. I needed to hear a voice- any voice, any voice at all would do. Just someone to let me know that everyone else wasn't struck dead by lightening, yet.

"Hello?" I said, nervous.

"Frank!"

I paused, taking a moment to process the voice. "Mikey?"

"Yeah."

I blinked for a few moments in confusion. "Who's phone are you calling me from?"

"Mom's cellphone."

"Oh."

He paused for a few seconds, but when he spoke, his voice shook slightly. "What happened?" he asked. "Between you and Gerard?"

"Nothing," I lied, even though just thinking of it was making me feel sick. I didn't want to think about it at all- I didn't want to remember the kiss. I wanted to get it out of my head completely.

"Why?"

"He's just..." Mikey took a deep breath, sighing. "He's just sad, is all."

"Sad?"

Gerard was sad, because of me?

I didn't mean to make him sad. I didn't want him to be sad. All I wanted was for him to stop thinking about me, so I could stop thinking about him, too.

I wanted to take back the kiss.

"He's locked himself in his room," Mikey said quietly. "He's barely said anything since you left."

I didn't know what to say.

"He's... He's been struggling with depression for a while, now. But you already know that, right?"

"Right..." I said quietly.

I felt like crying- I wasn't going to, but I felt like it.

"Well, yeah. It runs in our family. He- he has medication for it. But I think he's stopped taking it."

"Mikey," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because." His voice was faint and desperate, and it broke my heart. "You made him happy. He didn't even need the medication anymore once you showed up."

"I still don't understand. What do you want me to do?"

Mikey sighed, his voice pleading. "Come over. Make him happy again."

Make him happy again?

I felt my eyes water.

How on earth was I supposed to do that? I couldn't take back the kiss, and that's the only thing I could do to fix any of this- if I weren't such an idiot, it wouldn't have happened. This was all my fault. If I had just told him no and not kissed him then I could be at his house right now, and instead of not speaking to one another we could be curled up in a pile of blankets on his floor.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," I told him, a lump forming in my throat. "But I don't know what to do."

There was a long stretch of silence, and then the faint beeping of the phone that let me know he had hung up.

I just looked at the phone for a few seconds in a state of desperate indecision.

I didn't know what to do.

I was so confused, I felt so guilty and angry and lonely and sad, all at the same time.

I didn't want Gerard to be sad, but I couldn't go back. Not today. Not any time soon. I needed to figure out what to say. I needed someone to tell me what to do to make him better, and I needed someone to tell me what to do to make myself better, too.

I glanced at the TV again, remembering the forecast, and then I quickly called Mikey back, praying that he would answer. It took him a few rings before he picked up, and when he did, he sounded so hopeful that it made my heart hurt.

"Frank?"

"Mikey," I said, trying not to sound too desperate. "Can I come over? To talk to you?"

"I-"

"Just you. Please." My fingers trembled slightly. "I just need to talk."

"Frank... Why? What's wrong? You sound scared. Did something happen after I hung up?"

"I don't want to be alone right now," I explained in a whisper, my voice cracking. I squeezed my eyes shut. "And I don't have anyone else to go to," I admitted. I couldn't go to Gerard. Not now. I couldn't face him, not after what happened.

If I had just stayed, maybe things would be different- we could have just talked it out, but no, I'm too much of a coward. I couldn't even bring myself to ask Mikey to let me talk to him. I didn't want to answer questions and I didn't want to ask them, and I was scared that one little mistake had destroyed our friendship.

"Why don't I come over there?" Mikey said, his voice sympathetic. "I don't know how well it would work out if..."

I knew what he meant. Things wouldn't go well, if Gerard and I saw each other today. It was too soon to see each other again.

"Okay," I said. "That works."

I quickly told him my address, scrambling to my feet and looking out the window, my fingers trembling again. I knew I had a few hours until it started storming, but one could never be too careful.

"I can't leave right now," Mikey said. "Mom's in the kitchen and I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork until three... I'm going to have to sneak out. She said she was going to the store later- would two work?"

"Yeah. That's good."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up and tried not to get too anxious waiting for him.

\---

It started raining about half an hour early. I freaked out immediately- I wasn't sure if I had everything done correctly. Windows closed and locked, curtains and blinds all shut. Doors locked. All running water was off, everything electric besides the light, my cellphone, and the TV was off.

My fingers still shook every time the rain got harder.

When Mikey knocked on the door I almost cried in relief. I didn't know him as well as I knew his brother, but we'd been along each other long enough to be mutual friends.

"Thank god," I said, practically dragging the kid inside. I almost wanted to kill myself from guilt. He was only thirteen, and he'd walked through a storm just to come talk to me. I felt like an ass. "I've been scared to death. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Frank." He laughed slightly, raising an eyebrow. It struck me as a very Gerard-like movement; the Way brothers were the only two people that I knew who could raise just one eyebrow at a time. "What, exactly, have you been afraid of?"

I motioned vaguely to the TV, even though it was off, plopping down on the couch. Mikey sat in the chair, about a fourth of the way across the room. "The storms," I explained.

"Oh." He blinked a few times, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "It's just rain..."

I stared at him. "It's not 'just rain.' It's thunder and lightening and wind, too."

"That's nothing to be afraid of, though."

I felt like he was making fun of me. Here I was, seventeen and shaking with freight because of a thunderstorm, and there he sat, thirteen, four entire years younger than me, and calm as calm could be.

"Whatever," I snapped.

Mikey sighed slightly, glancing around the room. "While I'm here, I might as well tell you about the notebooks..."

"About what?" I asked, confused.

He looked at the floor.

I hadn't noticed until now, but Mikey was a small kid- not small like me, not short, but small in a different way. He was skinny, really skinny, and had a thin face. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose until he pushed them back, sighing.

He didn't look like Gerard all the time, but they shared certain expressions and from certain angles look very similar.

I looked at my feet, trying not to stare.

"I really shouldn't be the one to tell you, if you don't already know."

"Then why did you even mention it?" I said, rolling my eyes slightly.

"Because I don't know who else tell. He doesn't have any other friends, Frank. Just you. And... Well, he doesn't want to talk to me or Mom right now, I guess, but he needs to talk to someone, whether he admits it or not."

"Why?" I said, still very confused. "What's wrong?"

I didn't understand what he was trying to say.

I knew Gerard was upset, but he couldn't be that bad, could he?

Mikey ran his hand through his hair, shifting in his seat slightly. The action was so Gerard-like that I wanted to scream.

"Has Gerard ever told you... Well, have you ever seen any of his notebooks?"

I shook my head slowly- I didn't even know that he kept notebooks. I'd spent more time in his room the past few months than my own and I'd never seen a single notebook.

Mikey looked at his feet. "Well, they're not the most pleasant things in the world. I'm not supposed to look at them- no one is, really, but I was just thinking that maybe you had, since you're close, and whatnot... But, anyway, one day he left them all sitting out, and left one open."

"Why are you telling me this, what did they say? What does he write about?"

Mikey shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Bad things. Sad things."

"Bad...? Sad...? Like, what, nightmares, or something?"

"No. Well, yes. Kind of. He writes everything in his notebooks. All of his thoughts, his memories, his opinions... And a lot of them are really things that he should be seeing a doctor for."

I felt my heart sink and my eyes go wide. Gerard, at a therapist's office? Something about that scared me. It didn't seem right. "Oh."

We all had thoughts like that, though, right? I had bad thoughts sometimes. There were some days when I hated myself so much I wanted to die. I had never actually attempted suicide, though. The closest I'd gotten was going home one day, looking up what would kill me fastest, and then going to bed with the intentions of doing it the moment I woke up, only to freak out and decide not to.

Mikey titled his head to the side, grinding his teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Did he tell you about the gun?"

"Gun?" I felt my heartbeat speed up to about twice, maybe three times, it's normal pace. "What gun?"

"He has one."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up.

"It's legal, and everything- I mean, really it belongs to our mom, for safety and self-defense and all, but she lets him keep it in his room. Just because he's in to stuff like that, you know? He knows all the different types, he knows all about old Civil War and World War guns. He was really excited when Mom got one. He helped her pick one out and whatnot. Sometimes he likes to go to the shooting range downtown and just shoot a couple of rounds. It calms him down... I've never seen him so calm as after he goes down to the shooting range. It's amazing, really. It's like someone just took all of the bad stuff outta' him right along with the bullet out of the gun."

He'd never once mentioned guns to me. Never. He's never even said the word 'gun' to me, I don't think. "Really?"

Mikey nodded. "Yeah. When I asked why he enjoys it so much, he just started making metaphors that I didn't really understand."

I gave him a weak smile. "That sounds like a very Gerard-like thing to do."

Mikey smiled a small smile, too, but it quickly disappeared as he dropped his gaze back to his feet. "Anyway, one day... Well, I don't really even know. One of the drawings, in his notebook- he likes art and stuff, too, he draws a lot when you're not over- was of him, with the gun..."

I fell silent, staring at him.

Mikey looked so impossibly scared.

"It was of him, with the gun on his temple, a- and, well, I guess he had been going to, you know... Or at least he thought about it a lot. He locked himself in his room once for about an hour and when he came out the gun was on his bed, and... I think he had been..."

I swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Mikey gave a weak smile. "It's funny, actually, what happened. I hid the gun. I'm not supposed to touch it but I hid it in my closet for a while, until I thought it was safe for him to have it again. He got really weird after that. It made me laugh- I know it's wrong, but it did. He would walk around with this really confused expression on and he kept checking cabinets and Mom's room and he looked under his mattress about a million times until I decided to put it back. He was so confused. He never once thought to look in my room."

I felt like I was going to choke on air. "You do realize that you probably saved his life, right?" I forced myself to say, staring at him.

Mikey nodded. "Yeah. I didn't put it back for like a month. Until he started acting happy and everything."

"Has he ever done anything... Have you seen any more pictures about it, or anything, I mean? Has he said anything?"

He shook his head. "Nope. He hasn't talked about it once. I don't even think he's touched the gun since then."

"So he hasn't gone to the shooting range?"

Mikey shook his head. "Not for about four months, or so... Since you two started going out, actually."

I blinked in surprise at his choice of words. "Wait, you knew about us before I told y-"

He laughed. "Don't think I didn't see you two at Christmas, Frank. It was hard not to. You were using each other as chairs, I'm surprised that you two weren't, like, making out by the end of the night."

I felt my cheeks heat up, and could almost hear Gerard laughing that little laugh that told me I was blushing again.

"That's... That's kind of why I left, actually. Because we kissed..."

Mikey raised an eyebrow. "What, did you freak out?"

I nodded, laughing slightly. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it."

He nodded, too. "Yeah... I'm not surprised. Gerard's always liked physical relationships... He and Bonnie were practically connected at the lips."

I paused for a second, thinking back to the picture in the Way family kitchen. "Bonnie... That's the redhead, right?"

He nodded again. "His first girlfriend."

"What happened with her?"

"We moved. He was too attached, but she never called after we were out of state. And that's about it."

"But Gerard talked about her like she was dead, or something..."

He laughed. "He's too dramatic for his own good. But he really did like her- like I said, they were practically connected at the lips. When she stopped calling and stopped answering his calls, he started referring to her in the past tense."

I sighed, not knowing at all what to say.

Mikey sighed, too, motioning vaguely with his hands. "He's... I don't know. He's pretty bad, Frank. I haven't... Well, I don't think I've ever seen him like this, ever."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"He's..." Mikey glanced at the window, almost like he was afraid his older brother could hear him from this far away. "He's angry."

"Angry?"

"Yeah. He doesn't get angry at much anything, but I guess you kind of know that by now. He'll get ticked off at some things, but it takes a lot to make him really mad."

I shifted back and forth. I was suddenly very uncomfortable, even in my own home. I didn't want Gerard to be mad... As much as I didn't want to see him, as much as I just wanted to forget about him completely for just a few days until I sorted out my own thoughts, I couldn't deny the fact that I still cared about him. "Do you think it would help, if I talked to him...? I could call or something."

"Maybe... He kicked me and Mom out. I'm not even allowed to write notes to him, and that's never happened. Even when he doesn't want to talk he'll at least pass notes under the door. He's completely locked himself in his room. He was in the bathroom for about an hour- all I heard was running water and then something crashed and then he came out looking really sad, and then he went straight to his room."

"Running water...?"

Mikey's face was grim. "He does this thing where he washes his hair when he's mad. I don't really understand it, but when someone pisses him off he'll just go and there and stand in the shower until he's not mad anymore. It's like the shooting range, it calms him down."

"But you said he still looked upset..."

"So it didn't work, this time."

I sighed. "I should talk to him, shouldn't I?"

"If you want to. It won't do any good if you get emotional."

I nodded, agreeing. "Yeah. That would just make things worse. Maybe we should give it a day or two."

Mikey nodded slightly. "Okay." He stood up, offering me a sad smile. "I should probably get back home before somebody notices I'm missing. Call me before you come over."

"Okay."

\---

Three days later and I was still refusing to attend school. My mother didn't understand at first, when she came home from her one-night relationship, why I hadn't gone. She thought I was being an annoying brat who liked breaking the rules. She thought I was a delinquent who didn't want to get an education or talk to my peers, but truthfully, I was just too sad to focus and too lonely to re-teach myself how to connect with other people.

"Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"Then why did you skip school again? I thought you were going to go today? I got a call from your teacher right after the normal time you guys get out- she was worried. She said you've been out a lot lately and look tired in class."

"My stomach hurts," I lied, rolling over in bed. "And I don't know, I guess I just don't sleep well, or something." I didn't know why she was so concerned- it wasn't like me skipping school was new, and it wasn't like me being bored out of my mind in class was astounding news, either.

She rolled her eyes, but still adjusted the blankets higher to cover my shoulders, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Three day stomach virus? I didn't think they could last this long."

"Well, they do," I mumbled, closing my eyes and wishing that she would just disappear.

"Frank, look at me."

I turned my head, sighing up at her. She looked a lot like me, right then- well, I guess I looked like her- and it was making me uncomfortable. "Please just let me go back to bed."

She sighed. "Well, I'm going out again tonight. I'm leaving now."

I blinked a few times, wondering why she was telling me this.

"If you need anything, just call."

She patted my shoulder lightly and then disappeared.

I stared after her, confused.

Did she just not yell at me for skipping school? Did she just tell me that if I felt like whining, to call her?

Huh.

I shook my head slightly. Maybe my head was just too foggy to focus, or something. I sat up, blinking a few times, and grabbed my cell phone. My stomach did hurt, but not because of a virus or anything.

I was nervous.

Today was the day that Mikey and I agreed that I should come by and try and talk to Gerard.

I dialed the Way family house phone number, and waited.

"Hello?"

"Mikey? Yeah. It's Frank."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen - Gerard's POV  
I could not get him out of my head.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't.

If I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, I would start imagining that he was curled up on the floor in a pile of blankets again, hiding from the storm outside. I would start thinking about how he's always looked at me in awe when I came down there to lay next to him, how he looked at me like I was a saint when I told him that I wouldn't let the storm hurt him. And then, after the remembering, I would start to move down there, to lay with the boy I so desperately missed. But then when I realized he wasn't there, I would just drag all of the sheets off of my bed and lay in the pile of blankets that I wish he had made instead of me, because he seemed to be so much better at those kinds of things, and try not to think about anything at all.

If I tried to draw, my pencil would only sketch the lines of his smile. And then of course his nose would come in to shape above it, and then the eyes would become his, too, and my paper would transform into a memory of his life, frozen in cheap paper and expensive pencil led. If I tried to draw something else, it would turn into a butterfly, something which I guess I've started associating with him- Frank was the butterfly in my stomach, he send my insides tumbling into mayhem every time he smiled. The curve of his lips would become that of the pattern on the burtterfly's wing, and after that, not much made sense but the butterfly and his smile.

If I tried to sleep, I would dream of him. Most of the time in my dreams we were back in the diner, still just friends, not touching but only smiling and laughing. And then I'd always do something stupid- touch his hand or brush my ankle against his, by accident- and he'd run off before I could even speak his name. I would wake up crying and gasping for air, and once I think I woke up with the syllables of his name starting to form in the back of my throat.

Eating to distract myself only resulted in throwing up on the bathroom floor, struggling to keep my hair out of my face and trying not to loose too much fluid, seeing as I wasn't exactly drinking enough, either. Sometimes I don't think I'm even throwing up because of the food- I think my emotions have started to take a physical toll on my body. Thinking of him made my eyes water, thinking of his touch made my fingers tremble, thinking of his voice made my head hurt, thinking of his rejection made my stomach churn.

I've thrown up four times in the past fourteen hours. I'm so dehydrated that I'm surprised I'm not dead yet, and the last time I had something to drink was about sixteen hours ago.

I rolled my eyes, realizing how horrible it would be to die of thirst.

I wonder how long it would take to smother myself- instead of letting my lungs go dry, I could just stop them from working all together. That'd be a much quicker, much easier death.

It was already getting hard to breathe, laying with my face pressed into my pillow. If I just pressed a little harder and held my breath, eventually I would run out of air.

It's been four hours since I last left my bedroom, four and a half since I last threw up, and three since I last stood up. It's now been five days since I've touched another human being. Four since I've spoken. Two since I've allowed myself to say his name in my own thoughts.

I've been laying on my stomach for two hours and seven minutes, I've been laying with my hands under my pillow and my face pressed into it for four minutes and eighteen seconds precisely.

If I just pressed my face down a little harder...

Someone started knocking on my door.

I ignored them, just like I've done every other time.

"Gerard?"

I stayed quiet.

"You've been too depressed lately," my brother said coldly, through the door. "If you feel like gracing us with your presence, I'd appreciate it if you'll come out for a few minutes. It's important." (I assume he walked away after that.)

I rolled my eyes, both at his sarcasm and his word choice, because he was wrong in his use of the word "depression."

This wasn't depression- he's impossibly wrong about that. That's not this new emotion. Depression is when you feel hopeless, it's when you think you're inadequate... And granted, I've felt like that for a long time, and I still do feel like that, but there was something more, now.

There have always been three emotions that have come naturally to me- depression, melancholy, and sadness.

The depression has been there the longest. I've never been good enough for anyone or anything, and I never will be. I'm a lost cause. The melancholy, well, that comes and goes. Melancholy is sadness without cause, and sometimes I fall deeper into depression without even knowing why. And sadness...? Well, I've, hardly ever been just plain sad. Sadness has a cause, it appears for a reason other than inadequacy or hopelessness.

Now, however, I think I am sad. In fact, I know that I'm sad.

I was very, extremely sad at the moment, and the cause of that emotion didn't seem to care. He probably wouldn't even notice if I died from this sadness.

"Gerard."

I rolled my eyes again at the sound of my brother's voice.

When was he going to learn that I didn't want to talk to him?

I didn't want to talk to anyone, for that matter.

I didn't want to talk to anyone, I didn't want to see anyone, I didn't want to touch anyone.

I didn't even want to think anymore, because I hated the sound of my own voice, and I could hear it in my head. I didn't want to open my eyes, ever, because I'd end up seeing my hands and then I'd remember how annoyingly alive I am. I didn't want to touch anyone or anything, because the only touch I craved was that of the boy who I wasn't allowing myself to think about, and everything else seemed either dull or painful in comparison.

Quite honestly, I'd rather be dead.

I have nothing left to live for, anyway.

My brother, well, he'd be better off without me. He could finally learn to be on his own, to stand up for himself and make his own decisions.

My mom would have one less mouth to feed- we've been struggling with money for quite some time now. It would take a lot of stress off of her shoulders.

And the boy with the honey-hazel eyes and the butterfly wing smile? I doubt he'd even notice I was gone.

Mikey knocked on my door a few times.

I pressed my face further into my pillow. Maybe if I pretended to be dead he would believe it... Then they could just bury me alive, and I could die in peace.

Or maybe if I just died for real, he'd go away and assume that I didn't want to talk.

That would save us both a lot of trouble.

The knocking got louder. "Please come out, it's important..."

The fabric of the my pillow case clung to my lips as I breathed in. I hadn't meant to do it now- I never do. I've done this several times in the past by accident, breathed in so that my pillow case sucked towards my mouth and clung to my lips, but I've always jerked my head back immediately.

I heard Mikey mutter something outside of my room, and then the knocking started again.

It was a different kind of knock, that was coming from the other side of my door. It was a quieter, scared knock. It almost sounded like someone besides my brother was knocking, but I knew that wasn't right.

I closed my eyes, almost subconsciously, letting my breathing pull the too-light fabric closer to my lips.

The pillow case was limiting the amount of air coming into my lungs. I breathed in a little deeper, only resulting in my head feeling light.

I pressed my face further into the pillow case- this was starting to get interesting.

Suddenly, something in my lungs malfunctioned.

I don't know what it was.

Maybe the pillow case was doing it's job, maybe the suffocation was working.

All I know was that I was gasping for air that wouldn't come, and the pillow case was blocking the air flow.

With every gasp, my lungs constricted more. With every constriction, my head felt more-so light.

One more breath and I'd be dead.

"Gerard...?"

My head snapped up, surprise shooting straight through my veins and into my chest. I gasped for air, staring at the door.

I was wrong about suffocation- it wasn't the most pleasant experience. Something was about to happen, though, something worse than death by suffocation. What, I didn't know, but it was going to be big.

Either I was going to spontaneously combust, explode, cry, throw up, or all four, or my door was going to turn into a black hole and eat the person on the other side.

I hoped for the first two options- I didn't want to cry or throw up, my poor lungs wouldn't be able to keep up with tears after the torture I just put them through, and I didn't want the person on the other side to get sucked into a black hole... But I wouldn't mind dying. I wouldn't mind it at all.

The scared knocking started again.

"Gerard, please," his voice quivered.

Just hearing his voice made my insides twist into knots. Whether it was because I wanted to see him or because I wanted him to go away or because I'd almost just suffocated myself to death, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I still felt as sick as I had for the past few days, and there was a disgusting feeling rising in the back of my throat.

He knocked again, harder this time, his voice pleading.

"Please just talk to me," he said, desperately. "Say something. Anything."

I didn't reply- I didn't see a reason to, and I didn't want to waste anymore air than I had to. He knew I was here, I knew he was there. We were acknowledging each other's existence and that was enough.

"Gerard, please. I understand if you're mad, just... Just talk to me, please? We're still friends, aren't we?"

Mad?

I wasn't mad.

I missed him, was all. I missed him so much that it hurt.

Missing him was worse than suffocation.

I hauled myself off of the bed, cringing as it creaked, flinching with each noisy step as I crossed the room.

"Right?" He knocked on the door, lightly; shakily, almost. "We're still friends?"

I wanted to cry. His voice was so desperate that it made me want to cry.

"Please?"

I walked to the door and sat down, leaning back against it.

He knocked again and I closed my eyes as the door vibrated against my spine. "Gerard, I'm begging you, please just-"

"Hello," I said quietly.

His voice and the knocking stopped immediately.

I figured that he wanted me to say something more, to keep talking, to hear my voice clearly, but I didn't feel compassionate enough to give him that luxury at the moment.

I honestly felt like I was going to throw up.

"Gerard?" It was Mikey, this time. He knocked several times. "Can we come in?"

"No."

"Well, can-"

"No."

There was a silence that lasted exactly fourteen seconds.

The other voice spoke up again. "Can we talk?"

I considered for a moment. "Yes."

I could hear their voices, muffled as they spoke to each other.

"I'll be in my room if you need me," my brother told the other boy quietly.

I heard Mikey walking away, and then the scratch and scrape of fabric as someone sat on the other side of the door.

Neither of us spoke for a minute and forty-two seconds.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.

I leaned my head back, resting it against the door, and closed my eyes. Knowing that the only thing separating us was a few inches of wood and a few layers of paint sent my heart sputtering.

Breathing was getting hard again, but this time there was no physical blockade that I could just move away from.

"Yeah." I could have told the truth- I really should have, I guess. Lying to him was hard.

I wasn't at all okay.

My head still felt light when I stood up- just sitting up straight made me dizzy, and I could barely walk six feet without having to reach out and touch something to steady myself. No matter how many times I brushed my teeth, I could still taste the bile from the emotion-induced sickness. I smelt like shit, my hair was disgusting and my roots were starting to grow out again, and I'm convinced that I don't need to eat, even though it's been at least eighteen hours since I last looked at food.

"I don't believe you."

I let out a soft breath of air. I was very scared of this conversation- I've been missing him, but I've also been dreading seeing him again.

How were we supposed to act, after what happened?

Were things supposed to go back to normal, was I supposed to kiss his cheek and smile when he blushed, or were things supposed to be like they were when we first met, awkward touching of hands and small smiles that were too shy and too scared to properly express emotions?

"Well, what about you?" I whispered. I didn't trust my voice to get any louder; it was rough and hoarse and sounded annoyingly dry. "How have you been?"

"Tired," he said almost instantly. "I've had a stomach ache all week."

"What about school? How has that been?"

"I haven't been this week."

I almost wanted to start lecturing him about the importance of education but I guess I couldn't really complain- before I stopped talking to anyone, I'd talked my mom into giving me a week break in exchange for my normal spring break week. It kind of sucked, because then I wouldn't be free from schoolwork at the same time Frank was, but I needed a week to just not do anything.

There was a faint tap against my door. "Why won't you let me in?" he asked softly.

I tapped back, but didn't say anything.

"Are you mad at me?"

I took in a sharp breath of air. Why on earth would I be mad at him? The only person I was fed up with was myself. "No."

"But Mikey said-"

"Mikey was wrong."

If Mikey had told him I was mad, he was right, because I was furious with myself for screwing things up, but if Mikey had told him that I was mad because of something he had done, then he was completely wrong.

We were both quiet.

He tapped a few times on the door and I repeated the pattern back to him.

"That's Morse code," he told me.

"I know."

I tapped the pattern out again.

"S. O. S," I translated. "'Save our souls.'"

We tapped the pattern back and forth three more times, before he didn't reply.

I scooted away from the door, staring at the piece of wood that separated us.

"Are you leaning on the door?" I asked, even though I was sure that he was.

"Yeah..."

"Scoot away from it. Face it... Face me."

I listened to the ruffle of fabric and then he said a quiet, "Okay."

The crack under my door was just wide enough for me to slide my fingers under.

His hand touched mine instantly, almost making me jump.

We couldn't exactly lace fingers, but we were touching, so it was a start.

I almost wanted to cry.

I didn't realize how much I could miss physical contact.

He was suffocating me once again with the simple fact that I'm human- he kept reminding me over and over again about all of these instincts, all of these needs and wants and cravings and hormones that needed attention.

His fingers pressed down on mine and all I really wanted was to touch him- he was touching me, but I wasn't touching him.

This was his choice, he was showing me that he cared.

I wanted to prove the same to him.

"I miss you," he confessed, pulling his hand away.

I smiled a sad smile, moving my fingers away from the door and back into my room. "I've missed you, too."

"'Missed?'" he asked, questioning my use of past tense.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "You're here now, aren't you?"

"But you can still miss people even when they're right in front of you," he argued. "You're just a few feet away and I miss you more than I ever have."

"But you're here," I said, trying not to frown in confusion. "And I'm here. Isn't that enough?"

His voice quivered when he spoke. "But I can't see you, Gerard. I can't touch you. And I miss that. I miss you."

I paused for a long second, trying to make up my mind about something.

I stood up and slowly unlocked the door, before sitting on the edge of my bed, facing the door. I tripped a few times on the way there, but once I gained my balance, I was sure of my decision.

"The door is unlocked," I said loudly.

There was a short moment that passed, and I briefly wondered what was going on in that pretty little head of his.

Was he thinking about me?

The door pushed open, and for thirty seven seconds, we just looked.

He looked at me, I looked at him.

He looked stunning.

His shirt was wrinkled, probably worn for the second or third day in a row, and he was wearing a pair of jeans that I'm completely positive belong to me. He'd done something to his hair, it was shorter, and it was tangled and soft looking, and fell in the most unruly way. A few strands fell over his eye but he didn't make a move to brush them out of his face. He just stood there, staring at me.

He was recklessly beautiful. I let out a soft breath, wanting to reach out and touch him. I didn't, though- I was scared of breaking him.

"I like what you've done to your hair," I told him.

He looked at his feet, brushing the few strands of hair out of his face. "Thanks," he said softly. "I don't think I'm going to keep it like this though."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I was bored this morning and chopped random bits of it off until I got this. I wasn't really paying attention. It's too different."

I felt the corners of my lips pull up into a slight smile. "You cut your hair because you were bored? Sounds like something I would do."

He smiled a small smile, too. "That's kind of why I did it."

My smile dropped a bit. "Well, I like it. It may be different, but it's cute."

His face flushed a light shade of uncertain modesty. "Thanks," he said again.

His gaze locked on to his shoes.

"I've missed you," he said, his voice cracking.

"I've missed you, too."

I couldn't stop staring at him.

"Are we okay?" Frank asked suddenly, looking up at me.

I blinked a few times. "What?"

His cheeks went pink again. "I mean- are we- uh." He shifted a bit, looking uncomfortable. "Are we still together, I mean?"

I blinked.

Were we still together?

The fact that he was asking me almost made me want to scream in relief. I'd been wondering that exact same question the past five days- were we still together? Was Frank still mine, was I still his?

"I don't know," I confessed. "Are we?"

He stared at me, eyes wide. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

I shook my head. "I- I just don't. I was hoping you would..."

He looked very confused and very scared.

"You decide," I said softly. I was surprised I was even giving him permission to do so... By giving him permission to end our relationship, I was giving him permission to end my life.

I didn't want to live without him.

It's so foolish, I know. Four months of togetherness and five days of sadness shouldn't be enough to become this attached to him, but somehow, it was.

Frank was the first friend that I've made in years. He's the only boy that I've honestly wanted to have a future with; this wasn't some teenage romance, not to me, at least.

I wanted to fall in love with him, one day.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Gerard..."

"Say whatever you want to," I told him. "This is completely up to you."

"What if... What if I said no?"

I felt my heart stop.

If Frank said no...

I gave him a weak smile. "Then I guess we're just friends."

"You'd be okay with that?" he asked, surprised. "Being just friends?"

"I wouldn't exactly be content," I said honestly, not looking at him. "But I'd deal with it... A friendly relationship is better than no relationship, right?"

I wish I had just gone ahead and suffocated myself.

Before I knew what was happening, though, I was being tackled backwards onto my bed- Frank was hugging me.

He was a momentary blur of over sized tee-shirt and my old favorite pair of jeans and black hair, all pulled into focus by that infamous pair of honey-hazel eyes and that brilliant smile that was the butterfly in my stomach. He hugged me so hard that it made us both fall back into the pile of blankets on my bed.

"Well, you don't have to just deal with it," he said, pressing his face against my shoulder. "Because we're together, Gerard. Maybe not completely, but mostly. Forever."

"Forever?" I asked, not believing him. Could I trust someone, even Frank, for the rest of forever? Could I willingly let him have ownership over my emotions for that long? I felt my voice quiver as I spoke, "Promise?"

"Promise."

I grinned, hugging him back for a second but then prying him off of me, just looking at him.

He laid on his side, and I did, too, about half a foot away and staring at each other.

"You could have just said so," I laughed softly. "Not that I don't like the hug, it's just that my head hurts so I've been a little dizzy..."

His face flushed a slight shade of pink. "Sorry. I just- I'm excited, you know? I've missed you."

I grinned. "It's okay. I understand."

I reached my fingers up and tucked strands of his messy black hair behind his ears, not sure how much I should be letting myself get away with... His hair was so gorgeously unruly that I wanted to kiss him.

He just gave a small, careful smile, letting me brush my fingers down his cheek.

"You look tired," he told me.

"That's because I am. You look tired, too, though."

"Oh. Yeah. The storms kept me up..."

I nodded. I'd been fairly concerned about the weather recently- I'd almost been tempted to call him several times to see if he was okay.

I noticed that he was staring at me, and I stared right back.

He really was beautiful.

Liquid hazel eyes that I could melt into, fingers that I wanted to hold forever, and a smile that I wanted to taste every day for the rest of my life. And of course there were his flaws, too, but those were irrelevant. All I needed was that butterfly smile.

I felt guilty for a moment, but then realized that his eyes had paused at my lips, too.

"I'm sorry," I said instantly, making him blink at the sudden movement.

He met my eyes quickly, surprised. "What?"

"I'm sorry," I said again, sincere. "For the other day."

He stared at me for a long second. "Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything wrong."

"But-"

"But you shouldn't- I mean-" He looked down. "It wasn't your fault."

But it was. It was all my fault, everything was my fault.

I shouldn't have been such an idiot. If I had just masked my emotions, just for a little while... Maybe we wouldn't have had to of suffer through that five day separation.

"I shouldn't have run out like that," Frank argued. "I should have just told you..."

"Told me what?" There was nothing to tell. I understood- he didn't want to kiss, I did. It was as simple as that.

He rolled onto his back, pressing his hands over his face. "I should have just told you how scared I am," he mumbled.

"Scared? Of what?"

His reaction time was four seconds longer than normal. He was deciding something, I could tell- he was deciding whether or not he should tell the truth. "I'm scared of a relationship with a boy," he admitted, almost sounding annoyed.

I sighed.

I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know how to make him better.

I'm so fucking clueless, sometimes, and I hate that about myself.

I could have told him to not be scared, but I knew that wouldn't work. He has every right to be scared.

"I was scared, too," I told him, trying to comfort him with my own painful past. "When I realized that I liked boys, I mean."

He turned his head, looking at me. "What? Really?"

"I was thirteen," I said quietly, nodding. "It was when I was still in public school... There was this kid, who'd just moved here from Sweden."

I laughed, remembering how awkward of a child I was in middle school.

"I was absolutely fascinated with him. I don't really even remember his name, we didn't know each other for that long, but he was really sweet and had the cutest voice, and the fact that he was from Sweden and wasn't just another boring American who's speech patterns I could predict made the whole thing so much more interesting... I really liked him. I really, honestly did. But no body else did, and I never understood why all the other boys hated him so much... Until I learned that he was gay." I sighed. "I didn't have a problem with it, though- I could never see what was wrong with being gay, or bisexual, or even transgender. It's never bothered me. All that's ever made sense to me are instincts, and if instincts told you to like someone of the same gender or to turn yourself into someone of the opposite gender, I've never minded."

I stared over at Frank and he gazed back.

"The boy, the Swedish kid... He was so different than anyone else at the school, and he was nice to me. He sat with me at lunch when no one else would. In gym, when all the other kids were running and I was sitting on the side, he'd take a bad grade for that class period and come sit with me."

I'd just be sitting there in sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt because I hated my body, failing the class completely, and he'd come over and sit with me, and tell me that I looked perfectly fine to him. He's just smile and nod when I said, "Really?" and then tell me that the people who called me fat were wrong.

I blinked a few times, trying not to remember.

Out of everything I've ever been called, I've always hated the word 'fat' the most. 'Faggot' may be rude, 'emo' might be annoying, but they were just stereotype labels. The truth hurt, and 'fat' had always been true, when I was younger. Granted, I've lost a lot of weight since middle school- and when I say a lot, I mean that... But I still feel fat sometimes. Once you see all of that excess weight, hanging off of your skin in ugly rolls and lumps and curves, you can never stop thinking about it.

I'm always noticing how I'll never quite be thin enough.

Sure, my collar bone sticks out sometimes, but what about the weight in my legs? That still hasn't gone away. And yeah, maybe I'm not heavy around the stomach, but my face? It's far too round to ever be considered attractive.

I'm fat.

I know I am.

And when people point it out, it stings. They don't do it much anymore- no one has for years, they all call me skinny, but I know they're just trying to make me feel better because I know it'll never be true- but when I was younger? Some days it made me want to kill myself.

"His instincts were to be nice to me," I said, forcing myself to keep talking. "And I liked that about him. So we stayed friends... And I guess I sort of started falling for him."

Breathing was becoming painful again.

"I was so terrified," I whispered.

I let Frank slip out of the focus of my vision, until he was a blur and everything else was, too. I was seeing without observing, something that I haven't allowed my self to do in a long time.

It was nice, not noticing everything. The world was so much more simple when it was all out of focus lights and blurry shapes.

Not thinking too much was a luxury that I very much needed right now.

"I didn't understand my own emotions- I was raised liking girls, it was the only sexual attraction that I understood on a social level at that age. I got that I liked boys, I knew for a fact that I did, I knew that my instincts were telling me that I liked boys, but I didn't know how to handle that feeling. I couldn't tell anyone. Liking a boy made me feel so... So dirty," I realized. "It made me feel unwanted. I came home every day for a week straight crying, because I didn't know what to do. I'd heard the names people called that boy, but I didn't want to be called those things, too." I smiled a weak smile, my voice cracking as I spoke. "I just wanted to be like everyone else."

Frank's fingers touched mine, not quite holding my hand.

"But eventually," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I realized that it didn't matter. Everyone else's opinion didn't matter. That boy... He was my everyone else- I wanted him and he wanted me, and it worked out."

Frank studied the side if my face as I finished my story. "So what happened?" he asked, sounding honestly curious. "Did you ever date him?"

I offered a small smile, one filled with painful nostalgia. "We kissed once, before I moved out of town..."

"Just once?" he said, looking surprised. "Is that all?"

I chuckled. "I was a fairly innocent kid, Frank."

"'Fairly' is the key word there."

I just laughed. "Yeah, I guess. But like I said, he made me realize that gender didn't matter... Hell, if someone likes me because of who I am, I'm not going to object. He was the first person besides my family that ever looked at me like I was an actual person, and not just some annoying creature that took up space. I don't even remember much about him, but that Swedish boy changed my life more than anyone else I've ever known."

We were silent for a long few seconds, and then Frank said, very softly, "What about me?"

"What about, 'what about' you?"

"Am I your 'everyone else,' Gerard?" he asked quietly. "Can I be your next Swedish boy?"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen - Frank's POV  
I couldn't decide if I was depressed or so happy that it was making me sad, because things weren't fixed, but they were better.

Gerard was careful around me, again.

He had stopped kissing me on the cheek- he almost seemed scared to. He didn't seem to want to take any risks.

When I slept over, even if he did decide to join me on the floor in the middle of the night, he wouldn't come within three feet of me. When we ate dinner with his family, he wouldn't hold my hand beneath the table like he used to. He had promptly stopped putting his arm around me when we walked. He'd started bad habits of asking me if I was okay and of asking if he could hold my hand before he did.

I was starting to miss his body heat. I was starting to miss the way his fingers fit between mine, how he squeezed my hand when he laughed. I was staring to miss the way we fell in sync when we walked. I was starting to miss the spontaneous kisses on the cheek and the sudden hugs and I was starting to miss the time when all I had to do was brush my fingers against his and he would know that I wanted to hold his hand.

A lot of that had ended.

Most of it had, actually.

He suddenly seemed to not know what to do with himself- he was so scared of doing something wrong that he didn't want to do anything at all.

He was acting like I had, when we first started the whole "togetherness" thing.

I almost wanted to kiss him, just to show him that it was okay, but I didn't because I knew that'd just make things worse.

I couldn't keep his words out of my head, though.

Had he meant them?

"No, I don't want you to be like the Swedish boy," he had said. At first my heart had sunk- that boy had done so much for Gerard. He'd helped him realize something about himself that changed his life for the better, forever. I wanted to be that important to him, too. But then Gerard said, "I want you to be like you," and something just felt right about that. "I want you to be like you, because you're all that I want."

And then we went quiet, and I couldn't stop smiling, and neither could he. That had been a good day, for both of us.

But since then... Things have just been weird.

I was starting to wonder if he had been honest.

Did he really want me, like he did before the kiss? Or had I ruined everything with one stupid mistake? He'd suddenly gotten so moody, lately- one minute all he wanted to do was sit there and enjoy each other's company, and the next he'd be begging me to go to the park or the diner, or to take a walk or something like that. Sometimes he'd be so quiet and sad looking that it was making me depressed, too, and the next he was going off on a loud, annoyed rant about something, or he was so happy that I couldn't help but smile, too.

Knowing myself, I was probably the reason for that. His emotions were impossible to predict and it was all because he didn't know how to act around me- I could almost feel it, the nervous tension around him.

I'd wrecked this relationship. I'd completely shattered the one thing in life that I really enjoy.

I felt my lips pull back into a small, sad smile of self-pity.

I'm such an idiot, sometimes, that even I make fun of myself.

"What are you so happy about?" Gerard asked from the other side of the table, misunderstanding my smile and then smiling a bit himself. We were at the diner- Gerard with his cup of coffee, as always, and I with just a glass of water. Neither of us were really hungry enough to eat.

"Everything," I told him, lying. I wasn't really happy at all. "I'm happy about everything.... I have so much to be happy about," I told him, forcing the smile to spread across my face. "I don't think I'll ever be sad again."

He grinned. "That's good, you have a nice smile."

I felt my face get warm, both from guilt and from modesty.

"You're blushing," he informed me, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I know," I said quietly, my smile fading as I curled my fingers into the fabric of my jeans. I wish I knew how to stop blushing. Could you just train yourself not to?

"You're starting to lose your touch, Frankie," Gerard teased, clicking his tongue. "That's the fourth time today."

"Well, stop saying things to make me blush, and I'll stop," I informed him.

He just laughed. "I don't think that's ever going to happen."

I rolled my eyes. "Why do you never blush? It's not fair."

"Because I have nothing to be shy about."

"Oh, I'm sure there's something!"

"There's not."

I titled my head suspiciously, watching him raise the coffee mug to his lips again. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

There was something... There was definitely something that had made him blush before... I'd only seen it once...

"So, are you ever going to play the piano for me?" I asked causally.

His eyes went wide as he sat the coffee mug down. "Uhm..."

"You told me you would," I reminded him.

"I don't-"

"I mean, you have nothing to be shy about, right?"

His face flushed with color. "Frank, shut up."

I grinned. "You're blushing!" I announced triumphantly. I felt like screaming it from the top of my lungs- I'd done it! Finally! I'd made him blush!

"Shut up," he muttered, turning a darker shade of pink.

"But why? You have nothing to be shy abou-"

"Frank Anthony Iero," he said dangerously. "Shut up or I will strangle you right here and now."

I giggled. "You like me too much to do that." (And I really hoped I was right about that. Gerard still liked me like I liked him, right?)

"I could always secretly be planning to kill you," he said playfully.

"Oh, so then it wouldn't matter if I heard you play piano, would it? I'd be dead by morning if I did."

He glared at me. "Stop talking about it."

"You're still blushing, though."

"Because you're still talking about it."

"Because you're still blushing..."

He rolled his eyes. "Can you please shut up about it?"

I bumped his foot with mine beneath the table. "No." I took a deep breath. "I like it when you blush."

"Well, I don't."

"Why not? It's cute," I admitted, genuinely. "It's really cute when you get annoyed. Your nose scrunches up and you roll your eyes and you start tapping your fingers on the table and... It's just cute."

"So you find pleasure in seeing me ticked off?" he asked, smiling slightly. "That's a tad bit kinky, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. "Not like that, dork."

He rolled his eyes, too, still smiling. "Since when did you get so-"

"Amazing?"

"-cocky?"

"Since..." I titled my head, laughing. "I don't know. Since we decided to be together again, I guess." Since I figured out that he wasn't going to make things better- if I wanted things to be like they used to, I was going to have to make it happen myself.

"Oh, what, the fact that I like you gives you an immense amount of confidence?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"So are you always going to be this annoying, now?"

I grinned at him. "Yep."

He grinned, too. "Good, you're cute when you're annoying. I guess that works out pretty well."

We were silent for a few seconds.

"You will play the piano for me eventually, though, right? I'm really curious now."

He rolled his eyes again. "One day."

I rolled my eyes again, too. "I really don't understand why you're so shy about it. You won't even touch the piano when I'm in your room."

"Because I don't like people hearing me play, okay?"

"Well, why not?"

"Because... I don't know." He looked down at his coffee mug, his fingers wrapped tightly around it. "There's just not much about my life that's private, so sometimes I like to have stuff that only I know about..."

I nodded. "Okay, that's understandable." I understood wanting to have something that was private. I didn't get much privacy, either, but I cherished the few things I did have to myself.

Gerard, for example.

No one knew about our relationship but us and his family, and that was it. And we hadn't even formally told Mama Way, and Mikey had figured it out on his own.

He was my secret, and for the most part, I was his.

He smiled a small smile at me from across the table, almost like he knew I was thinking about him.

"You know," he said quietly, keeping that small smile dancing across his lips. "Sometimes I wonder why you choose to stick around. I'm such an asshole sometimes that even I don't want to be around me."

"You know that's not true."

He just chuckled a bit. "Believe what you will, but it is."

I wanted to argue the topic, but Gerard seemed to want to move on. He sipped at his coffee, not looking at me again.

"So, when can I hear you play the piano?" I asked.

He shrugged, sitting his coffee mug down. "I don't know... One day, eventually. When I figure out something good enough to play for you."

"I'm sure whatever you know now is good enough..."

"But I want it to be better than that," he said, serious, talking with his hands slightly. "I want it to be perfect."

"I'm sure it's fine," I told him. "I know it is."

\---

When I finally did hear Gerard play piano, it was a few weeks later and completely by accident.

"Is that him?" I asked in awe, standing in the Way family kitchen. The sound of his piano was echoing through the house.

Mama Way nodded, leaning against the kitchen counter and smoking a cigarette. Mikey sat at the table, reading a comic book. "Mmm-hm. Have you not heard him play before?"

I shook my head. "No. He got really shy when I asked him about it."

Mama Way nodded, smiling a sympathetic smile. "He's really touchy about who hears him play and what they hear and when they hear it... There are some songs that I'm not even allowed to hear. I'll walk in to the sound of the piano, but the moment I shut the door behind me, he just stops. No matter how quiet I am he always seems to know that someone else in the house... And when I go in there to see why he stopped, he'll suddenly be 'drawing' at his desk and claims to not have been playing."

I sighed. "Why is he so shy about it?"

Mama Way shrugged. "I wonder that, too, sometimes... You know about his Grandmother, right?"

I nodded. She had died, right after Gerard and I first met.

"She taught him to play. He didn't used to be so modest about it but since her health started declining... He only ever plays for her and himself."

The way she worded it made me want to cry. '...only ever plays for her and himself." She made it sound like he still played for his Grandma, like he was pretending she was still alive, or something.

"If you're lucky he might let you listen," Mama Way said. "He probably heard you come in, so he knows you're here..."

"I'll just go in there," I said, shrugging. "If he doesn't want me to hear then I guess he'll stop."

I went back to Gerard's room, quietly opening his door. I nudged it open, not wanting to make noise.

He sat playing the piano, not even looking at me. I don't think he even noticed me come in- he didn't flinch a bit.

The first thing I noticed wasn't actually the music he was playing, but his hair.

Black.

He'd dyed it black, and cropped it a bit shorter than I was used to seeing him with.

I stared at the back of his head for a second, not sure how to react.

"You're staring," he said quietly. I could barely hear him over the sound of the piano, his fingers not missing a beat as they played a melody that I had heard before but couldn't place.

I just blinked at the back of his head, sitting on his bed, leaning back against the pile of pillows that always seemed to be there. "How'd you know?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulder slightly, crossing one arm over the other to dance his fingers across the higher keys. "I can just feel it," he said, simple. "I'm alone enough to know when someone else is in the room, and knowing human instincts and knowing that I've made a major change in appearance since last time I saw you, you're probably staring."

I looked down. "Well, what's wrong with staring?"

He chuckled. "Nothing and everything, Frank."

His fingers danced across the highest few keys, just barely producing any sound, and then he must have been done, because he dropped his hands on to the piano bench, pressing his palms flat.

"How can nothing be wrong with something when everything is?"

"There's nothing wrong with staring," he explained, turning to face me. "Because everyone's done it at one point in their life, and if so many people do it, it must be excepted..."

He tilted his head and I took in a sharp breath, watching him watch me.

I honestly believe that I've never been attracted to Gerard more than I was in that moment.

"But it's not," he continued. "There's everything wrong with it, because even though thousands of people all across the world stare at other people every day, people still call it rude. They always say, 'Oh, staring is bad. It makes people uncomfortable.' But so many people do it, anyway, and they seem perfectly content with it... It's the most inappropriate thing that people do even when they're told not to, and everyone wants to end it, even though no one actually minds."

I felt something painful build up in my throat, some type of bittersweet emotion that I didn't understand. "It sounds like you're talking about a lot more than just staring."

He laughed, once, an unamused sound. "Maybe I am, but..."

"But maybe you aren't?" I suggested. I was really hoping I was right- he couldn't be talking about anything more, could he?

"Maybe you're just reading too deep in to the truth," he corrected. "But I'm not going to tell you which, so figure it out for yourself."

I sighed.

Sometimes Gerard was so frustrating that I just wanted to scream.

"I like your hair," I told him, instead.

It was true- I was struck instantly by it, the black strands framing his face, freshly washed for the first time in a while.

"Thanks."

Black was a nice color on him. A really, extremely nice color on him. The unruly locks stood out against his skin- pale, like always- and made a stark contrast against his white collared shirt.

I couldn't look away.

His shirt was wrinkled in a way that made it look slept in, and the first button was undone. The black tie that I'd never seen him wear and didn't think (and never would have guessed) that he owned hung un-tied and loose around his neck. He was wearing black jeans that clung to him like a second skin, and he rubbed his right palm on his knee, massaging his hand.

"You look nice today," I told him honestly. "Why are you all dressed up?"

He blinked a few times, glancing down at his clothes and then back up at me with a small smile. "Oh. I had a job interview this morning. That's why I didn't pick up when you called."

"Job interview?" I asked, exceedingly surprised. "For what?"

"It's nothing big," he said, almost shyly. "Just working for a comic strip in the newspaper. I won't get to write any of my own material, but I'll be able to draw, so that's enough."

I grinned at him. I'd never really seen any of Gerard's art- he hid it when I was over, and when he did leave it out in the open or worked on it while I was here, I never really looked at it. I tried to respect the fact that he didn't want me seeing his art... But from what Mikey has told me and from the amount of time he spends working on it, he must be good. "That sounds awesome. Did the interview go well?"

Gerard shrugged, laughing a bit. "It did. But I'm not quite sure how much I like the rest of the newspaper staff."

"Why, what happened?"

"Let's just say that the receptionist didn't seem to understand the fact that I wasn't interested in her, and the other guy there to interview for the job couldn't quite pick up on the fact that I'm already in a relationship."

"So your possible future co-workers were hitting on you? Both male and female?"

"Yep... You know, the guy was actually kind of cute, now that I think about it."

I raised my eyebrows, smiling slightly. "Oh, was he?"

Gerard smirked. "Yeah. He was."

"Am I going to have to start keeping you on a leash, Gerard?"

He laughed, winking at me. "Remember what I said when we first met? I'm the baddest bitch you'll ever meet... So just consider me your personal dog, Frank."

I laughed. "Okay, when I start bringing you dog treats and rawhide bones, don't be surprised."

He just grinned.

I looked at him for a second, at his smile and eyes and hair and everything else, too. I really couldn't get past the new hair and the nice clothes.

"Did I mention that you look particularly attractive today?"

"You said I look 'nice,'" he chuckled. "But not 'particularly attractive.'"

"Oh. Well, you look both."

"Well, thanks."

I smiled at him and he smiled right back.

"Cigarette?" he offered.

"Sure."

He came over and sat in the middle of his bed, right in front of me, producing both a cigarette and his ever-faithful lighter from seemingly nowhere.

We sat there for a while, sharing the cigarette and not really doing anything. We didn't talk much, except for when Gerard asked me to scoot over so that he could sit next to me. The moment he did I rested my head on his shoulder.

"I've missed this," I confessed quietly.

"Missed what?" he asked, touching my hand with his.

"Just sitting here with you."

He sighed, tilting his head and resting it on top of mine. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Cigarette?" I asked quietly.

He wrapped his arm around me, resting his elbow on my shoulder and holding the cigarette near my mouth.

I chuckled, pressing my lips to it. It felt strange not holding the cigarette- I liked the way the paper felt between my fingers, I liked the warmth of it and I liked to flick the ashes when I was done- but it was strangely comforting knowing that Gerard was the one holding the cigarette, this time.

"Have you ever though about the fact that we're basically doing drugs?" I asked, letting the smoke out between my lips.

"No..." He leaned over, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray. "I've thought about the fact that we're basically doing a drug. Nicotine."

I sighed as he moved the cigarette back up towards my lips. This time I just took it from him, between two fingers, and he didn't seem to mind. "But what about all the other stuff that's in cigarettes?" I wondered, looking at him as I took a drag.

Gerard shrugged. "Poisons and chemicals and drugs that add flavor."

"But you said drugs-"

"Drugs, yes, multiple drugs. But I think it's just the nicotine."

"Why?"

He considered for a moment. "It's an addictive word. I like the way it sounds, I like saying it, I like hearing it and seeing it and writing it. So nicotine is what I like to believe I'm addicted to."

"Oh."

We were quiet for a moment and I just sat there, staring at him.

His eyes honestly were the prettiest shade of brown I've ever seen.

"I wish I could see things like you do," I told him. "Everything must be so beautiful through your eyes."

Gerard laughed and I watched his eyes the whole time, watching his smile scrunch up the skin in the corners and watching as the reflection of his bedroom light casts a quick flash across his pupils.

"Trust me, Frank, nothing is beautiful through my eyes but you and the sun and sometimes nature. Society is an ugly place and the only thing good about it is the fact that we keep nature around, and every once in a while there's people like you who make it more pleasant to be here."

I smiled slightly, even though I was more sad than happy. "You can't possibly mean that."

"Oh, but I do."

"No, come on, you don't. There's a lot more than me and nature to be happy about."

His face softened a bit, smile fading, face turning serious. "Oh, but Frank, there's really not." A ghost of the smile appeared again. "You make me happy and some days you seem to be the only thing that does."

I just scooted closer to him.

"You know what makes me happy?" I asked him, not letting my voice get louder than a whisper.

"What?"

"You."

He laughed, shoulder vibrating. "Well, I'm glad."

I turned my face, pressing my lips to his shoulder.

He blinked at me a few times, looking surprised, and I just smiled a weak smile that was begging him to say something.

"Frank-"

"You don't have to be so careful," I told him. "Things can be like they were before, you know."

"But-"

I cut him off, pressing my lips to his cheek, trying not to smile at his body heat. "But it's okay."

He stared at me, lips parted in confusion. "Frank..." His voice was slow and careful and uneven all at the same time. "You're not just doing this because of me, are you?"

"I'm not," I assured him. "I don't mind kisses on the cheek and stuff like that. It might make me blush but that's just because I can't help it."

"Are you-"

"I'm sure." I squished all of his fingers between mine. "I like you, Gerard, I really do. But you know what I'm scared of, so just avoid that, okay?"

He nodded, sighing slightly. "I'm scared, too, though."

"Of what?"

"Of hurting you."

I didn't know what to say.

"That's why I'm being careful," he explained. "I just don't want... I just don't want to make a mistake, again."

"You haven't made any mistakes... Just... I don't know." I couldn't think of how to word it right. "It was a test," I said eventually. "It was a test that we didn't study enough for. And we failed it."

"But if we study..."

I smiled at him. "Then eventually, we'll pass."

He smiled, too. "That's a good way of thinking about it."

He pressed his lips against my cheek for the first time in what felt like forever. "I'm just going to warn you now, when I study for tests, I study a lot..."

I laughed. "Maybe you could tutor me, then?"

I hadn't seen his smile so playful since the test we both failed. "Oh, I could... If you pay me..."

I couldn't stop the laughs, now. "Okay, I guess I could."

\---

"Frank." "Frank." "Frank, hurry up." "Frank." "Frank?" "Frank, I'm hungry." "Cook faster!"

I glared at Mikey from the corner of my eyes. "Mikey Way, if you don't shut up I'll pour this boiling water on you."

He rolled his eyes. "And then Gerard would kill you."

I grinned. "But that's where you're wrong. He likes me too much to kill me."

Gerard walked in the kitchen right then, raising an eyebrow. "Who likes you too much to kill you?"

I grinned. "You, dork."

He clicked his tongue, tsking at me. "Don't insult me, Frankie. I could always kick you out of my house."

"You can't do that." I was spending an entire week at Gerard's house- his mom was visiting an unnamed aunt in poor mental health in some state that I couldn't remember the name of, and had trusted Gerard to watch Mikey. She didn't exactly know that I was sleeping here the whole time, but she knew I'd be here, so we weren't breaking any rules. "Who'd cook your food if you did?" It was only Saturday, and we had seven more entire days together, and the Way brothers were already forcing the vegetarian to cook their food. If I screwed it up, I blame them.

Gerard narrowed his eyes, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a water bottle before tapping it closed with his foot again. "Fine, you can stay... But if you overcook anything I swear I'll make you sleep on the street tonight."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Maybe you guys should go vegetarian this week. That'd be like ten times easier."

"I don't want to eat salad every day!" Mikey argued.

"That's okay, because that's not all I eat."

Gerard laughed, snorting slightly. "But still, we'd miss meat way too much."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, you'll have to miss it for one more day, because you're having pasta tonight."

"Pasta?" Mikey screeched. "Just pasta?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, just pasta. You've been standing there watching me the whole time, Michael, you could have said to make something else, if you really wanted it."

"Don't call me-"

"Yeah, Michael," Gerard snickered. "You've been standing there the whole time."

Mikey glared at his brother and I just laughed.

"Give it three minutes," I said, nodding to the pot of cooking pasta.

"What are we supposed to do for three minutes?" Mikey whined.

"I don't know," I said, rolling my eyes. "Why don't you go do whatever it is thirteen year olds do?"

"Why, so you can have Gerard all to yourself? It's called seven minutes in heaven, Frank, not three," he snickered.

I thumped him in shoulder and he hopped back slightly, sending a look at Gerard.

"Gerard, why can't you control your friends?" he whined.

Gerard just chuckled. "If I could control him, don't you think we'd be eating steak tonight?"

Mikey narrowed his eyes. "True..." He sent me a suspicious look from the corner of his eyes. "I'm watching you, Iero..."

I patted the top of his head. "You have fun with that, kid."

"I'm not a kid... But, hey, has it been three minutes yet? I'm hungry."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen - Gerard's POV  
It wasn't that I didn't want Frank to stay over for the week, because I really did, but I couldn't help but notice the issues with the situation.

First of all, where does his mom think he is? Secondly, how am I going to get any sleep with him here? I can't risk having a nightmare while he's in the house... None of us really know how to cook- according to Frank, pasta was really the only thing he knew how to make without burning, so we're definitely going to have issues with food this week. And also, how the hell was I supposed to get any school work done during the day with the distracting knowledge that Frank would be home from school in just a few hours? I mean, it was still the weekend, but come Monday morning and he'd have to be at school, seeing as he's missed far too much already.

There were too many reasons why this wouldn't work out well, I realized, staring at the ceiling.

"Gerard?" Frank said, his voice barely audible. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes," I said quietly, startled. We'd been laying in silence for an hour and nineteen minutes- I'd assumed he was asleep. "You okay?"

"Yeah... I just can't sleep."

I sighed, swinging my legs off of my bed.

"No-" he said quickly. "Don't. Stay there, you get some sleep. I'll be fine..."

I fell to my knees next to him in the pile of blankets that he seems to have permanently formed on my floor. (When it's not there I always confuse myself, because I've gotten so used to stepping either over it or around it or through it.) "Too late," I told him. "I'm down here and I'm too lazy to stand back up." He looked up at me as I shuffled around in the massive pile of blankets. "Can I lay with you?" I asked.

"Sure."

I stretched out next to him on top of the blankets, trying not to get too close to him.

He stared at me through the dark. "Why are you so far away?"

I looked at him for a few seconds. "Didn't realize I was..."

"Well, I'm cold," he informed me quietly.

"You have like five million blankets," I chuckled. "What more do you want?"

"You," he said simply.

I raised and eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh. "Oh really, now?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not like that, dork..."

That time I laughed. "I can't tell because it's so dark, but I'm about ninety-nine percent positive that you're blushing right now."

He glared at me but failed to hide the smile on his lips. "Maybe I am... But you asked to lay with me, so stop acting like I have a disease and fucking lay close to me."

I slowly shifted around, rolling off of the blankets. Frank lifted them, and I moved back next to him, letting the covers flop down over our shoulders.

"There," I said, offering a timid smile. "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

He scooted closer and I felt myself lean away- I hadn't meant to do it, but I couldn't help it...

He sent me a look from the corner of his eyes. "Gerard, I thought I told you-"

"I know... I know."

He wanted things to be like they used to. He wanted me to kiss him on the cheek and constantly push the limits and touch his arms and his shoulders and his hands like I used to.

But I couldn't.

I just couldn't.

If I let myself act how I used to around him, I just knew something would go wrong again. I'd lose control, I'd push something too far and screw it up all over again.

If insanity was doing something over and over again and expecting different results each time, then Frank and I were both crazy for ever thinking that this could work out.

"Why do you never sleep?" he sighed, touching my face softly. "Every time I wake up in the middle of the night, you're awake too."

I shrugged, lifting my hand to pull his off of my face.

That just resulted in him twining our fingers.

"I just... I just don't sleep well, sometimes."

"Sometimes, or all the time?"

I looked away. "I don't have to answer that."

He sighed, scooting a bit closer to me, curling up ever-so slightly. "Promise me you'll sleep tonight?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Oh, Frank, you know I can't promise that."

He closed his eyes, moving closer to me. "I'm still cold, you know."

I pressed my lips to his forehead, draping my arm around him. Whether he was actually cold or he was just trying to find an excuse to get closer to me, I couldn't tell. "Just sleep, and you won't even notice," I assured him quietly.

\---

By five the next morning, I was dreadfully bored.

Watching Frank sleep was interesting, of course, but after a while I couldn't help but crave for something else to do but watch him, think, and count passing time.

Frank moved a lot in his sleep- as of right now he was on his back, spread out kind of like a starfish, one hand laying on my arm. He shifted suddenly, rolling on to his side, curling forward. I watched as his facial expression shifted, looking annoyed at something, his lips parting in a small sigh.

I couldn't help but smile. He was adorable, looking so angry in his sleep.

His fingers latched on to the blanket, tugging on it, and when it didn't move I reached over and tugged it for him, draping it over his shoulder.

The sudden movement of my arm woke him up, I think, because suddenly he let out an annoyed sound.

"Sorry," I said quietly.

He reached his hand up to his face, rubbing his eye. He muttered something that I couldn't quite hear, keeping his eyes closed.

"What?" I frowned.

"What time is it?" he said slightly louder, turning his head towards me and forcing his eyes open.

"Five twenty-eight."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "...too fuckin' early."

"I know," I chuckled.

He forced his eyes open again, looking over at me. "Mphmm."

"What?"

He let out an annoyed sound. "Uncomfortable," he clarified, shifting.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

He shrugged slightly. "I don't know."

I sat up, rubbing beneath my eyes. Frank made a small sound, stretching his fingers out and touching my knee.

I rolled my eyes. "Frank, you sound like an idiot just mumbling. Either wake up or go to sleep."

He rubbed his eyes, sighing. "Fine, fine..."

Ten minutes later and Frank was mostly awake, having rolled over onto his back and then over onto his side several times, opening his eyes and blinking and shutting them again, and then finally opening them for good.

He sat up, sitting on his knees and rubbing his face.

"You still look tired," I told him.

He looked up at me, studying my face for a second. I found myself appreciating his honey-hazel gaze, dull from tiredness.

He reached out suddenly, running his fingers down my face. "Not as tired as you do, though." One of his fingers skimmed beneath my eye, making me blink. I knew what the skin there probably looked like- dark, the blood vessels showing through obnoxiously well, giving me the tired half-circles under my eyes. "Sleep," he insisted. "It's still early, you could get in an hour or two of rest."

"No thanks."

He sighed in annoyance. "You have to. You need it."

"I really don't."

"You do, though."

I rolled my eyes, pulling his hand away from my face, letting him twine our fingers. "I swear, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." He squeezed my fingers. "You look like shit," he informed me.

I chuckled. "Well, thank you, Frank..."

"I'm serious. You need sleep."

I leaned back down, keeping hold of his hand and pulling him down towards me. "Come here. Lay with me for a few more minutes."

He did as I asked, shifting around in our massive pile of blankets, laying at an angle and resting his head on my chest. I took a deep breath, not used to the weight.

He turned his head, looking at me, and I just stared back.

"You know," he said quietly. "If you had asked me, a few months ago, if we'd ever end up here, like this... Well, I probably would have laughed."

"And if you had asked me if we'd ever end up here," I told him, draping one arm across his stomach. "I probably would have smiled and said 'I wish.'"

He moved around slightly, pulling himself upwards until he was laying completely next to me, eye-to-eye, my arm now on his hip. "Promise me something?"

"Anything," I assured, looking at him.

"Promise that in ten years, if we're not together anymore, that we'll meet up somewhere? If neither of us are married or dating in ten years, that we'll get back together and try this again?"

I stared at him, his body heat beneath my fingers making it hard to focus. "And if we are still together?"

He smiled a small smile. "Well, then can you promise me that we can get a dog?"

I chuckled. "Okay, we can get you a dog if I can get a cat."

He laughed, too. "Okay. Promise?"

I slid my hand up his side, trailing up his neck, watching him shiver slightly as my fingers tangled into his hair. I leaned over, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Promise."

He just smiled a small smile as I let my arm go back around his waist. "I hope we're still together, though."

"I think we will be," I said honestly, eyes studying his lips. "I could never imagine being with anyone else."

And that was true. I didn't want anyone else, not like I wanted Frank. I had never found someone, I'd never met or seen or heard about or talked to anyone that I liked as much as I liked him.

I'd never believed in soul mates, and I still don't, and I doubt I ever will, but I'm beginning to believe that there are certain people meant for you, people who make more sense to you than just smiles and common interests, and Frank was that person for me.

Whether or not I was that person for him, I don't know, but I wanted him and I wasn't going to be letting him get away.

I'm nearly positive, I have been since we started this relationship, that there are other people who would be so much better for Frank, that there were tons of other people who he'd feel so much more comfortable with and who he'd connect to so much better with than he does with me, but I honestly didn't care.

I wanted him, and that's all that really mattered.

I felt something build up deep in my chest, an emotion that I'd always felt drawn to even though I've always known was wrong.

It was hate. Hate for myself, that is. Hate for the emotions in my head, for the ache my fingers and lips and everything else felt, hate for the way I spoke and walked and smiled.

I hated myself. I always have.

I hated myself because I'm so selfish- all I want is for me to be happy. That's all I've ever cared about, satisfying my own needs and then wasting away in whatever joy comes afterwards.

I could honestly care less if the people around me were okay, or not.

I met Frank's eyes, sighing.

Did I really care about him as much as I claimed to?

Of course, I'd be devastated if something happened to him, I'd probably kill myself if he ever left me, I hated seeing him upset or hurt, but in the long run, I didn't actually care if he was happy or not, because that's not the way I work.

It's not the way I've ever worked.

I'm incapable of pleasing others, I realize that now.

I didn't care if Frank would be better off with someone else, because I needed him. I didn't care if I sometimes made things uncomfortable for him, because I wanted it to happen and that's all the permission I needed.

I felt my lungs start to close in on themselves- the sudden realization at what an absolutely horrible person I am was suddenly choking me.

I didn't care if Frank was happy. I really didn't, I never actually have. I've wanted to, I guess, deep down inside I've always wanted him to be happy, but on the surface, all I wanted was for my own emotions to be satisfied, first. I've never cared if Frank didn't like me entirely much as I liked him, I didn't care if he'd be better off without me.

I wasn't using him, no, that's not what this was. I was just... Well, I'm not exactly sure what I was doing.

I just wanted to be happy, for once in my life, I guess, and Frank made me happy. Now that I realized how self-centered I've been, I wanted him to be happy too, but if he wasn't, I wasn't going to let that stop me.

I wanted him, and damn it, I would get what I want or die trying.

Frank closed his eyes, letting out a small, content sigh, and I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him.

I turned my head away, closing my eyes, too. That was probably a mistake- the second I closed my eyes, I didn't want to open them ever again. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten a full night's sleep, and laying here next to Frank, I was sure that I'd have no problem falling asleep...

His lips pressed against my temple, softly, and I sighed.

"Get some sleep, Gerard," he told me, not completely moving away, lips brushing my skin as he spoke.

"N- no," I muttered, forcing my eyes open.

I took in a sharp breath- he was close, far too close.

"Promise me that you'll get some sleep tonight, then?"

"I can't," I said desperately, pleading with him. "I can't promise you that."

His fingers skimmed the side of my face, resting in my hair. "Why not?"

"Because," I said. "I just can't."

Frank sighed, sitting up, looking around for a few seconds. "Can we go eat breakfast, or something?" he said, changing the subject. "I'm hungry."

I sighed, putting my hands over my face. I didn't want to get up, I wasn't hungry enough to be bothered to eat. I was tired, I was exhausted, really, but I couldn't sleep.

I just wanted to lay here for a while.

"You go on," I told him. "You know where the cereal is."

Frank sighed, looking at me. "You're not going to eat, are you?"

"What was your first hint?"

His fingers skimmed down my arm. "I swear you're going to starve to death, one day..."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine, Frank, I-"

"How much do you weigh?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked at him. "What?"

He just stared at me. "Your weight, Gerard, what is it?"

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic. "I- I don't know... Why?"

He just shook his head. "Whatever it is, I don't think it's healthy... You've lost weight since we met, you know..."

I looked away. That couldn't be right. I hadn't lost weight. I'm still as fat as I've ever been.

"Gerard-"

"Just go away," I said, sending him a look. "Please. Just go eat. I'm not hungry."

He sighed, fingers touching the back of my hand. "Promise that you'll eat lunch and dinner?"

I rolled onto my side, so I wouldn't have to look at him when I lied. "Yeah, sure."

I listened as he left the room, squeezing my eyes shut.

I just wasn't hungry, was all.

I just had to keep telling myself that.

I laid there on my bed for another eleven minutes before I felt my breathing slow down, my chest getting heavy, my eyes not wanting to open.

I was falling asleep.

I sat up, sighing in annoyance, rubbing my eyes.

I couldn't let myself sleep, not this morning, not this afternoon, not tonight, not tomorrow or tomorrow night. I could sleep while Frank was at school- that was a good plan. Do my schoolwork while he was asleep, sleep while he was gone, be perfectly wide awake and fine while he was here.

I felt my lips pull back into a slight smile. That could work.

There was a light knock on my door and I looked up, meeting Mikey's eyes.

"Hey," I said.

He raised his hand in a slight wave. "Hey."

"What's up?"

He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "Not much..." He leaned against the door frame. "He's worried about you, ya' know."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't see why."

"Well, what would you do if he never ate and never slept? You'd be pretty concerned, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, because he's Frank, I mean... He needs those things-"

"And you don't?"

I blinked at him a few times, not having an answer. I would be okay without sleep, I've never slept that well, anyway, and I'd be fine without food for a little while until I got hungry, as long as I stayed hydrated.

"You can't keep doing this, Gerard," my brother told me. "You can't keep living like you're playing God. Stop forcing things to work out and start letting them happen on their own, the way that they should."

"I'm just not hungry-"

"You're never hungry."

"I'll eat when I am hungry, though, okay?"

"Well, what about sleep?"

I ran my fingers through my hair, not looking at him. "I can't," I told him. "Not while he's here, you know that."

"I'm sure he'll understand-"

"But what if he doesn't, Mikey?" I snapped. "You don't-"

"I do."

"You don't! You really don't, and you've known about my nightmares your entire life, and you still don't get it-"

I stopped, seeing Frank at the end of the hall. He peeked around the corner, looking at us. "Sorry," he said. I could barely hear him, from so far away. "I- I just heard you arguing, I-"

"It's okay," I said, standing up. "It's nothing important."

He looked at me for a long few seconds, and Mikey turned around suddenly, walking out of the room and brushing past Frank. Frank watched with a worried expression, coming down the hall to stand where Mikey had been.

"What-"

"It's nothing," I told him again.

"Didn't sound like nothing... I heard most of that, you know."

I looked away. "How much is 'most?'"

"Enough to know why you don't sleep..."

I sighed. "I-"

"It's fine," he said quickly, walking further into my room. "If you have nightmares, I mean. Quite honestly, I'm always a bit nervous about sleeping over here, too, sometimes..." He was standing in front of me now, looking at his feet, his voice quiet. "I- I used to wake up all the time, in the middle of the night, s- screaming... They still haven't completely gone away..."

I sighed again, wrapping my arms around him, resting my head on top of his. Whether I was hugging him because I needed to or because he looked like he needed it, I couldn't be sure.

All I really knew was that it felt nice to be this close to him.

He hugged me back, face pressed against my shoulder. "You should have just told me."

"Not many people know," I confessed. "My mom and Mikey are the only people who do..."

"And me," he said.

"And you..."

He leaned back, looking up at me. His fingers touched my hair, playing with the black strands- I still wasn't used to the new color, I'd never had my hair black before. He seemed to like it, though, so I think I'm going to keep it around for a while.

"Now that I know, will you get some sleep tonight? And if you have a nightmare, I'll be here for you?"

I nodded carefully, his fingers squeezing mine. "Yeah, I guess..."

He stretched up on his toes, the tip of his nose touching mine, and I laughed. His head twisted suddenly to press his lips against the dimple of my smile, making me grin even more as he dropped back down on his heels.

I think that was the closest he'd ever come to kissing me.

"You know, Gerard," he said with a smile, just looking at me. "One day, I think I'd really like to fall in love with you."

I couldn't keep the small smile off of my lips. "And I think I'd really like to fall in love with you, too, Frank."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen - Frank's POV  
We stood there in silence for a few minutes, our confessions weighing heavy in the air.

I didn't regret it, not at all, because it was true.

I wanted to fall in love with Gerard, one day. I wasn't ready to... But it would happen, eventually.

It had to.

I was sure of it.

Gerard pulled me into his arms suddenly, hugging me tight, causing a surprised sound to escape my lips.

"Did you just squeak?" he chuckled, chest vibrating.

I wiggled in his arms, trying to push him away jokingly, but he just laughed, holding me tighter.

"You did, didn't you? I made you squeak..."

He sounded far too proud about that.

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, probably turning me pink. "Gerard-"

He laughed quietly, not loosening his grip and placing a kiss on my cheek. "I wonder what other noises I can get you to make..." he murmured, lips brushing my ear.

I think his words had melted me, by that point.

"You're blushing," he said, a smile teasing the corners of his lips upwards.

I sighed as I gave into his hug, resting my forehead on his shoulder in defeat. "Aren't I always?"

"Seems like it."

There was a sudden knock at his bedroom door and we jumped apart. I'd almost forgotten that there was someone else in the house.

"Gerard? Frank?"

"Yeah?" Gerard said, walking to the door and flinging it open. He looked annoyed- I guess he'd forgotten someone else was here, too. Sometimes it was just way too easy to get caught up in out own little world, tucked away in Gerard's room. "Why are you knocking? You never knock."

Mikey just shrugged, glancing over at me. "I don't know, sorry. Just didn't know what you were doing in here, or if I was interrupting something..."

"Well, you are interrupting something, so..." Gerard paused for a second. "Wait, what did you think we were d-? You know what, never mind. Don't answer that."

I felt my throat close up in embarrassment as I realized what Mikey had been implying. "We're not... I mean... We weren't..."

Gerard turned his head slightly, laughing at me with a soft, playful chuckle. "You're the color of a tomato."

I hit him lightly in the arm, knowing that the already intense blushing was probably just getting worse. "Have I ever told you how much I hate you both?"

Gerard just laughed again. "Oh, babe, you don't mean that."

My face was so warm that I was starting to get uncomfortable. "Don't call me that."

He grinned, but didn't comment further, turning to his brother. "Anyway, what do you want, Mikey?"

"Oh, yeah... We're out of bread."

Gerard paused for a second, confused. "And you're telling us this why...?"

Mikey shrugged, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. "We need bread, is all, and I want toast."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "It's not even seven in the morning yet and you want me to go get bread so you can have toast?"

"Yeah! I'm hungry, and the only cereal left is the kind you like!"

Gerard sighed at him, starting to walk away, towards his bed, sitting down and sighing.

He was exhausted, you could tell just by looking at him. I really regret agreeing to him finally getting some sleep tonight, because he needed it now.

"There's other food besides cereal," Gerard said defiantly.

"But I want toast."

Gerard rolled his eyes dramatically as he fell face down onto his bed and started explaining how he shouldn't have to go get food when there's plenty in the house.

"If you want toast that badly, go get it yourself!" he concluded, loudly.

I walked over and thumped the back of his head, not being able to stand his disrespect towards his family. "Go buy your brother some bread, Gerard."

"Why should I?"

"Because! He's hungry and I actually am too, now that I think about it, and toast sounds nice."

Gerard rolled onto his back, hair spread out messily, eyes wide in confusion. "What? Why didn't you say something?"

I don't know why, but I was suddenly very annoyed. "Oh, so you'll get bread for me but not for your own brother?"

"Yeah! I mean, he's Mikey, he walks to the store all the time, but you're different-"

"Different? How?"

He faltered. "He's Mikey, you're Frank, I mean... You just are..."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm your friend, he's your family... That's a difference, and it's a big one." I pointed vaguely to Mikey. "He comes before me from now on, okay?"

Gerard sat up, glaring at me. "That's not right, you're equals in my book, just different. If you want bread I'll go with you because it's polite, if he wants bread he can walk to the store himself because that's what he normally does-"

"He's thirteen, Gerard," I interrupted, staring at him in disbelief. "He's your little brother, and I'm- I'm, well..." I sighed. "Honestly, I don't even fucking know what I am to you, anymore... But he's more important than me no matter what, okay?"

"Frank," Gerard said sharply. "You'll always be my first priority. Always."

"Always?" I asked, confused. "Before your family? No. No way in hell am I letting that happen."

"Well," he snapped. "You're going to have to deal with it. You're the most important thing to me right now, and-"

"More important than your family?" I repeated.

I watched as his eyes darted from behind me, where Mikey stood, to me, back to Mikey, and then back to me, meeting my eyes.

"Yes," he said coldly.

I turned to look at Mikey. "Is he always like this?" I asked in disbelief, trying to keep my voice at a normal volume. Mikey just blinked at me. "Have I really been this blind?"

"Blind?" Gerard said loudly, standing up, voice raising suddenly. "To what?"

I stared at him, regretting my own words but defending them, anyway. "To the fact that you're a complete asshole to your own family, that's what..." I suddenly realized a heartbreaking detail. "How much time have you spent with Mikey, recently?"

Gerard folded his arms over his chest. "I don't know... Why does that matter?"

I just looked at him is disgust, the realization sinking in deep in my chest. "You bastard," I said. "You fucking bastard! You've barely talked to him lately, have you?"

He looked down, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "No, I haven't. But-"

"Because you were with me, right?"

I felt horrible.

I felt absolutely disgusted with myself.

I'd never given a second thought about being with Gerard all the time- I'd almost forgotten that he even had a brother, sometimes. I knew for a fact that Gerard has never had many friends, so he and Mikey must be pretty close... And I'd come between that. I'd barely seen Gerard speak to Mikey except for when I strike up a conversation that somehow involved both of them.

I'd completely come between their relationship, and that made me feel so disgustingly inconsiderate.

"I'm leaving," I decided, glancing around. "Where's my cardigan?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Frank, you're not-"

"I am! You need to spend time with you brother, Gerard."

He looked at me for a few long seconds. "Is that all that this is about? You think you're getting in the way of me spending time with Mikey?"

I nodded, rubbing my forehead. I felt like such an idiot. How had I not noticed before?

"My relationship with my brother is fine, Frank," Gerard informed me.

I started to turn to look at Mikey but realized that he'd left. "Wh- where'd he go?"

"Probably to his room. He doesn't like it when people argue."

I looked at Gerard, my heart sinking. "Oh."

He wouldn't meet my eyes.

I knew what he wanted.

He wanted an apology.

"I mean what I said," I murmured. "He comes before me no matter what, from now on, okay? I never want you to put me before your family."

Before I could comprehend what was happening, he was hugging me.

I blinked in surprise. It wasn't a hug like before, this was different, this hug was a desperate one.

He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his nose against the place where my neck met my shoulder, leaning down a bit.

I slowly wrapped my arms around him, not quite sure what was happening. His sudden mood swings were beginning to scare me.

"I like you," he said quietly, suddenly. His sudden act of affection had me frozen in confusion. "Until I can say that I love you, I'm just gonna' say that. I like you, Frank, I like you, I like you, I like you. I like you a lot, okay?"

I took a slow breath, trying to understand. "I like you, too, Gerard, but where are you going with this...?"

He pulled himself away from me, suddenly, just looking at me instead. "I like you, but I love Mikey. There's quite a big difference between liking and loving, Frank. I hope you realize that."

I only half-understood.

"Love is when you're attached to someone," he explained. "It's affection, deep affection, that's hard to break."

"Th- then what is liking?"

"It's finding someone agreeable, or enjoyable..."

I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead.

That couldn't be right...

Surely love was more than just attachment, surely liking was more than just enjoying being around someone? I think for the first time in quite some time, Gerard was wrong. Love was a lot more than attachment and affection, it was much deeper than that, and liking meant you had to be attached. Those definitions were completely wrong.

They had to be.

If they weren't, then I was already in love.

"Mikey knows I love him," Gerard continued. He had one hand on either side of my face, suddenly, looking at me intently. I blinked back. "He knows that I do no matter what, he knows I always will."

"Okay, but-"

"But liking is something you have to prove... That's why... Well, it's why I've been so... Clingy, I guess." His breath brushed behind my ear and I took a deep breath, letting my eyes close again as his lips traced all the way down my jaw, stopping about half an inch from the corner of my mouth.

I wasn't in love, though.

I wasn't.

"Mikey's known that I love him for his entire life. When you love your family, it's obvious... But you, Frank, we're just starting out, and I still feel like you don't know how much I really do like you, sometimes. I constantly feel like I have to prove myself..."

I felt my breathing get shaky, my hands trembling as I reached up, peeling his hands away from my face. "I know," I assured him, laughing faintly. "Trust me, I know that you like me."

He likes me, I like him. Nothing more, nothing less.

He definition had to be wrong.

He had me locked in that hazel gaze of his, and I couldn't bring myself to look away, his hands going instantly back to cup the sides of my face.

"Just so you know..." His forehead rested against mine. "I'm trying to keep my distance, I really am... But you're just so tempting."

If I hadn't been matching the pace of my breathing to his, I would be out of breath and suffocating right now.

"Don't I tempt you, too, Frank?" he whispered. He sounded so desperate, pleading with me, clinging to my skin.

I put my fingers on his shoulders, pushing him away softly, forcing myself to look away. "O- of course you do," I confessed.

My inner turmoil was out of control.

He did tempt me, he tempted me far too much for comfort. I was so scared, but oh, god, I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn't run out after our kiss, that one day. What if I hadn't chickened out?

He pressed his lips to a spot on my cheek, far too close to my lips, and then stepped away, suddenly. Gerard dropped his hands to his sides, curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt. "Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry..."

I could hardly believe the quality of his self-control- I couldn't decide if he was doing good, or not.

I felt a lump form in my throat as I came to terms with what was happening, here.

I was either burning him, slowly, or I had already shattered him.

I couldn't decide if he really did want me as badly as he seemed to, or if I'd already crushed whatever confidence he had and he was trying to make himself want me again. I couldn't decide if these looks and touches and pleads that I was finally starting to understand were acts of desperation or attempts to put himself back together.

I watched as he looked up at me, almost shyly. He looked so scared right then. He bit his lip and curled his fingers tighter into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles turning white. His hair was tangled, senselessly, his breathing was so disorderly that I could see the uneven pattern as his chest rose and fell.

I could almost hear his heart sputtering out of control, I was sure of it.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry that..." I couldn't force myself to say it. "I'm sorry we didn't pass the test, I mean."

It took him a second to understand, and he paused, processing the metaphor.

"It's okay." He took a shuddering breath. "I'm just..." He looked down at his feet. "I'm just being a bit selfish, is all..."

"You're not-"

"I mean, I get that you don't... I understand, I mean. And I'm trying to respect that, I really am."

"I know you are," I assured him. I reached out and touched his hand. "And thank you, for that..."

He stared at my hand touching his. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm... Oh, god, Frank, why is this so hard?"

I just looked at him, not knowing what to say.

He was breaking my heart, with these mood swings of his, and he was crushing me with guilt. I don't think he intended to, but it was happening either way.

I stared at him, taking a deep breath and really considering the question that was still causing chaos in my head.

Did Gerard tempt me as much as I tempted him?

I realized with a jolt that he did.

He must tempt me, to make me want to love him, right?

I want to fall in love with Gerard.

I want to.

I want a relationship, I want to stay with him forever.

I could honestly not picture life without Gerard.

When I thought about the future, all I could see was him. When I thought about college, in a few years, all I could think about was how much time I'd spend talking to him on the phone late at night and how I'd spend all spring break with him. When I thought about getting a job, all I could think about was trying to work near Gerard. When I imagined getting an apartment of my own, one day, all I could see was a house that we shared.

I could not picture a future without him. It was impossible.

He was a part of my life, now.

Without Gerard nothing would make sense.

It didn't matter, how quickly this relationship went, because we'd be together forever no matter what.

It didn't matter anymore if he was a boy and I was a boy... I liked him and he liked me and that was all I needed to know.

That realization shook me to the very core.

We liked each other. He liked me. I liked him.

That had never happened, with anybody else. Sure, I'd had crushes before, I'd liked people, but never quite like this. I'd never become so attached to someone that I couldn't imagine life without them.

I looked at Gerard, meeting his eyes, and he just looked back. A million thoughts crossed my mind, right then, but the one that reached the surface was a memory, of the only kiss we'd ever shared.

Had it really been that bad? Had running away been the right decision?

I don't think it had been.

We'd spent five days apart because of my stupid insecurities. I'd spent five days in bed, wallowing in a pit of self-hatred and fear, and Gerard... Well, by the time I came crawling back, he looked dead.

I felt my throat close up on itself. That'd been my fault- we'd I'd walked in that day, Gerard had looked like complete shit. It was obvious how tired it was, how little he'd eaten. He'd been lightheaded, he stumbled when he stood, he was tired and his hands had shook for three days after that.

And it was my fault.

I felt an overwhelming sadness take over my heart.

That had been my fault. All my fault... Just because I couldn't kiss him.

Did my lack of affection really tale that much of a toll on him? Was he really that desperate for a relationship?

I think he was.

And actually, I didn't mind.

Not at all.

It no longer bothered me, the concept of kissing. It would happen eventually, wouldn't it?

"I'm willing to try again," I said quietly, my fingers shaking. I closed my eyes. "I think I'd like to re-take the test, if that's okay with you."

I waited.

I don't know what I was expecting.

Was I waiting for him to just kiss me?

Was I waiting for him to say no, to tell me that it was okay if I needed more time?

I forced myself to look at him.

He just stood there, staring at me.

"Well?" I whispered. "What are you waiting for?"

He just shook his head. "Frank, no-"

"Why not?"

"I just... I just don't want..."

"Don't want what?"

He rolled his eyes, frustrated. "I don't want to screw anything up again, okay? I want to do this right..."

I sighed a bit, not sure what to say or what to do.

The one time I actually wanted to kiss him, and he backs out...

I'm glad he didn't kiss me, though.

Even if a future with him was now dead-set in my mind, we had the rest of our lives to figure this out, didn't we?

"Let's go out for dinner tonight," he said suddenly. "Somewhere really nice..." His lips pulled back into a wide grin. "And we'll see where things go from there, okay?"

I nodded slowly, barely comprehending.

Was he...? "Gerard, are you asking me out? On a date? A real date?"

He smiled. "I am."

I could feel my face get warm.

Gerard and I had been "together" for quite some time now, that was for sure, but we'd never actually been on a real date. The closest we'd come to that was eating at the diner, but we did that everyday and had been doing that before we were even actually friends, so it didn't count.

I offered a small smile. "Okay, Gerard. Okay. I'll go on a date with you."

His lips pulled back in a wide grin. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely."

"You're sure about this?"

I nodded.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but..." I shrugged, suddenly feeling over the top with confidence, unable to keep my smile down. "You're tempting."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen - Gerard's POV  
Author's note: This chapter is the longest one so far... And it flows really awkwardly... Sorry about that... Anyway... Enjoy!

\---

I fumbled around uselessly in my room for a few hours, bored out of my mind without Frank there.

I'd managed to sleep for a while. It wasn't the best sleep, because I woke up for a few minutes because of a mild nightmare, but it was okay. It was sleep.

I woke up fully from my nap to a growling stomach, forcing myself to stumble in to the kitchen and fix some coffee, and eventually, Mikey convinced me to eat some cereal, too. Even though I'd kind of been boycotting normal dietary habits, having a full stomach felt both good and uncomfortable. I felt fat after eating, but I also didn't feel quite as lightheaded as before.

"Drink," Mikey said, setting a glass of water next to my coffee mug as he sat down at the other side of the table with a bowl of cereal that I knew he didn't really like. "I swear you're just going to pass out and die one of these days. You can't live off of coffee forever."

I snorted, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of water. "It's worked up until this point... Sorry about your toast. I'll get you some tomorrow, okay?"

My little brother just gave me a small smile. "Thanks... You know I was just kind of being an ass this morning, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "I kind of guessed. I got into a lot of trouble with Frank, ya' know... Over fucking toast."

Mikey laughed. "I didn't mean to do that! I just wanted toast! I didn't expect him to flip-shit like that! Speaking of the midget, where it he?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "If he hears you calling him that..."

Mikey grinned. "Seriously, though, where is he? I have a question about guitar and your advice sucks."

I flipped him off, thankful my mom wasn't there to see. "He's at his house, dork."

"His house? So he doesn't actually live here now?"

I rolled my eyes again. "While that would be nice, no, he does not live here."

Mikey just rolled his eyes back at me. "Seems like it."

"It's not like he's always here, though..."

"Not always, but most of the time."

I shrugged. "I dunno. I guess. I've been considering just giving him a key, if mom'll let me."

"I'm sure she would, she loves him. I'd just go ahead and get a key made, if I were you."

"Yeah?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. "Maybe I will."

"You should," Mikey told me. He stood up, setting his cereal bowl in the sink. "I'm gonna' go practice, 'kay?"

I nodded, smiling. "You're gonna grow up and be the world's best bass player, kid."

He laughed.

I just grinned.

I didn't really know what to do with myself- Mikey was busy, Frank had gone home for a little while, after a very angry exchange on the phone with his mom... I didn't have much to do but draw, watch mind-numbing TV, and sleep.

I'd told Frank that he didn't have to go; I'd tried every method of trying to convince him to stay. I would have loved for him to just stay enjoy the rest of Sunday with me, to curl up with me in bed and nap all the way up to our date, because I was suddenly very, extremely tired, now that I'd admitted that I really hadn't been sleeping as much as I should be.

(Something about knowing that Frank used to have nightmares too made it all seem not quite as bad... I wondered if his nightmares were anywhere as bad as mine, though.

Did he always wake up screaming? Did he think they were real? Did he feel like he was dying, did he cry for hours on end once he woke up? Did he ever wish that his inner demons would just go ahead and kill him, to put him out of his misery?

Probably not.)

I'd practically stuck to Frank like a leech as he had tried to leave the bed, though, whining and clutching his clothes, pulling him back down every time he tried to stand up- I think at one point my hand had actually been beneath his shirt, which had made him shiver and squirm and turn red- but he said that his mom would probably kill him if he didn't leave. And besides, all he had to wear were evidently old shirts that belonged to me and over-size skinny jeans, and neither of those were acceptable "first date clothing," according to him. (Which worried me. What the fuck was I supposed to wear, if that was the case?)

The call hadn't been the most pleasant thing to hear, especially knowing that I was "that boy" that Frank's mom was screeching about, so I just took his word for it and let him leave.

The phone had been on the speaker-phone setting by habit, because Frank always kept it on, as did I. We tended to listen in on each other's calls (which were rare, but still,) to offer advice, considering that the only time either of us talked on the phone was with our family, and if one of us did happen to take a call in private, neither of us mentioned it, because we didn't keep too many secrets from one another. I'd lied a few times, but within good reason and with good intention, and if he had been telling me less than the truth about anything, well, I didn't notice, and I didn't mind, if he had a good reason for it.

And besides, I already knew what Frank's mom thought of me. Even though we had never met or spoken, I knew she hated me, so it didn't matter much if I heard her ruthless insults.

She hated me. Truly, honestly hated me.

When Frank picked up his cell phone, he had done a big eye roll at the caller ID. The first thing Mrs. Iero asked was where he was.

"Gerard's house," Frank had insisted, leaning into the pile of pillows, stretching out across my bed. I'd been curled up next to him, covers draped over my feet, tugging on the waistband of his jeans, begging quietly and whispering for him to lay down with me. "I told you, mother," he'd said, swatting my hand away and glaring at me, which I answered by pouting. "We went through this like a week ago. He's my friend."

That was met with a suspicious silence, which I'd taken as an opportunity to take his hand and kiss his knuckles.

"I'm spending the week over here while his mom is away," Frank continued, rolling his eyes at the phone and it's insulting, disbelieving silence, and then at me and my silent pleas for attention. "So he and his little brother aren't alone."

At that I had raised a tired, confused eyebrow- I hadn't expected Frank to tell the truth about that. It wasn't often that he lied, like I said, but when he did, it was almost always to his mother.

"I want to meet him," she'd said almost instantly. "Can I meet you both somewhere for dinner?"

At that, we had both frozen.

She's never once asked to meet me... It wasn't that I didn't expect her to want to meet me, I just hadn't thought that she would ever actually ask, and I didn't expect that she'd want to meet me so soon. I was just a friend, as far as she knew. She was treating the situation like Frank and I were engaged and having a drive-through Vegas wedding, or something.

"Not tonight," Frank had said, thinking fast and sharing a glance with me. "I have school tomorrow, I was planning on going to bed early."

Of course, that was complete bullshit. We had a date scheduled tonight, and there was no way in hell that we were ever going to miss that. I felt my heart pick up speed just thinking about it- it was a stupid thing to be so excited about, I know, but I was confused about his sudden change of heart and I was glad that he had changed his mind and I was scared of hurting him, all at once. It was taking a weird toll on my body; one second my fingers were itching to touch him and the next I couldn't make eye contact, all because my stupid brain was running a mile a minute and nothing quite made sense anymore.

Then there had been a short silence, on Mrs. Iero's end of the line. "Fine. What about five, tomorrow afternoon?"

Frank had turned to me for an answer and I had just nodded, absentmindedly, suddenly distracted by my racing thoughts, because oh, fuck, what if I did manage to screw something up? I had sent Frank a glance, then, not really paying attention to what he and his mom were arguing about now, but more concerned and confused than anything.

He talked on the phone for a little while after that, and I'd fallen half-asleep by then, bored with uninteresting conversation. Eventually Frank agreed to his mom to go home for a little while.

"You take a nap, or something," he'd ordered, prying me off of him as he clamored away from my bed. I'd sent him a tired glare, muttering about how I wanted him to stay. "We're skipping the date if you don't get sleep."

And so, I'd slept.

For two hours, probably, which helped a lot.

And then Mikey and I had cereal, and then I drew for a while, and then Mikey and I sat in the living room, watching the news.

I realized what time it was half way through the six day forecast.

"Half past one, already?"

Mikey nodded, glancing over at me. "Yeah. Why? When was Frank supposed to get back?"

I shrugged, kind of uncomfortable. "He said he's be home about half an hour ago, but..."

"His mom probably just started lecturing him about something," Mikey snorted. "He's fine, bro. Just take it as a chance to get more sleep."

I sighed, concerned, but did as he said. I needed the sleep, anyway- I was a lot more tired than I thought I was.

I managed to get about another hour of sleep in, but I woke up, eventually, nervous for two reasons: the fact that Frank was so late, and our date.

I was worried about Frank. Really, very worried. It would have been different, had he texted or called, or something, but he hadn't, and the walk from his house to mine really couldn't have been but maybe thirty minutes.

I tried to distract myself with date clothes and my stupid forever-tangled hair and by taking a shower. It helped a little- the shower did it's job of calming me down well. There was something about warm water and steam that was very relaxing.

I let the spray soak my hair, running my fingers through it. I was still getting used to having black hair; it was different and dark, and sometimes I missed my red hair and the way people actually payed attention to it, but Frank liked it, so I didn't see too much wrong with it. I twisted my fingers around a few locks of it, watching the water drip.

I like showers. I like the steam, I like the warmth, I like the drip of the water down my skin. I didn't like my body- I hated it, actually- but when there's nothing but water and skin and steam I can't help but feel invincible. I can't help but feel like the longer I stand here, the longer the water is beating down on my skin, the cleaner I'll be, the more sins and whatever else are being washed away. By the time I'm out of the shower, I feel clean. I feel renewed, as stupid as it sounds.

There's something very intimate about showers, too. The nakedness of it all. The fact that the water was touching you everywhere and anywhere at any given moment, the cold and smooth tile all around you contrasting the warmth of the water... Taking a shower was like making love to the water. It felt beautiful. It was beautiful.

Thinking of intimacy and of all things beautiful, my mind wandered to Frank.

I had him memorized- not just his face, but him. His eyes and lips and nose and smile, his body and arms and legs, his hands and fingers and eyes. I knew the sound of his voice, I recognized the tones of it, too. I could read his expressions before he even realized I was looking at him.

I perfectly knew his body language, and everything else, too.

Everything.

He was engraved in my memory, every bit of him, from his body to his voice to his personality.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the water hit my neck, the sensation strange and slightly painful.

I let my mind wander some more, and I was making the dangerous choice to let myself think about Frank, and his butterfly smile, and those thin fingers of his. I made the mistake of letting my mind linger there, though, on his fingers and his smile, for too long. He was so distracting that I just couldn't help myself.

And showers were not good places to be distracted in.

I pinched the skin on my arm, forcing myself to focus on something else.

"Show some self control, Gerard," I muttered to myself, staring at the tile wall of the shower, trying to shake his image out of my head.

I couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, was going to happen during our date. I already knew where I wanted to take him; I had it all planned out, perfect:

Park.

Sunset.

Tree-climbing.

Candy shop.

Just the summary was making me smile.

There was a sudden pounding on the door and I almost jumped, surprised.

"What the fuck do you want, Mikey?" I yelled.

"I have to pee!"

I rolled my eyes. "Can't you wait?"

"Can't you stop worrying about your boyfriend and get out of the shower? I know that's why you're in there."

I glared at the door, even though he was right- I always took a shower when I was worried or nervous (or mad, but that wasn't the point, this time,) about something, because it helped me relax. "He's not my boyfriend," I said, because he had been wrong about that.

I was met with silence as I rolled my eyes, turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around myself.

I exited the bathroom, glaring at Mikey. "He's not my boyfriend."

My little brother just laughed.

"I'm serious," I said loudly, pacing to my room. "He's not!" I insisted, shutting my door.

And he really wasn't.

I mean, we were together, but I wouldn't call him my boyfriend. To qualify as boyfriends, I'm pretty sure a date and a kiss and mutual agreement on that label were all required. And even though, yeah, sure, two of those things would happen eventually, I wasn't too sure if Frank would like that term.

"Boyfriend," I said quietly, wiggling into a pair of skinny jeans. "He'd hate that."

He'd probably blush so much that he died of over-heating if I even said the word once.

I pushed the word, that stupid word that I knew would probably haunt me for the rest of the night, out of my head and turned to my closet, concerned.

Like Frank had said, old and over-sized shirts weren't exactly the best thing to wear on a date. I really didn't have much of a choice, though. I ended up with a shirt that had some band logo on it- it was so faded that I couldn't even read the name of the band, anymore- and a black leather jacket, which almost looked acceptable, and then I just plopped down on my bed, waiting.

I really had nothing to do except for wait, and eventually I got bored and started drawing. I didn't mean to, but I drew Frank...

\---

It was about four by the time he got home.

I jumped up the second he knocked on the door- don't ask how I knew it was him, because I just did. I guess it was because he had a very distinct way of knocking; everyone did, really. Frank's was quiet, timid, barely there. My brother's was loud, demanding, impatient. My mother's was rhythmic, always set to a certain, consistent beat, like mine.

I got to the front door before Mikey did, and flung it open, not quite knowing what to expect.

Frank pushed his way inside immediately, wiping at his eyes and nose, not looking at me. I didn't even see his face at first, because of the way his hair fell as he averted his eyes.

I felt a little pissed that he being rude. He gets home three hours late, and doesn't even provide an explanation? I started to ask where he'd been, and why he was being so quiet, and then I started to ask if he was okay, but I had to stop mid sentence.

Because was that- Was that blood?

I couldn't think straight, suddenly. My thoughts were even more scattered than before.

"Frank-?"

"I need toilet paper, or something, unless you want blood stains on the carpet," he said quietly, interrupting me, tipping his head back and pressing his jacket sleeve to his nose. He sniffled.

I noticed Mikey standing in the hall and sent him a panicked look- my brother sprang into action, racing to the bathroom to get something to stop the blood flow, bringing back a handful of tissue.

Frank was bleeding.

"Here," I said, not quite sure what to say, handing Frank the tissue. He pressed it gingerly to his nose and I just looked at him, putting one hand on his cheek, using my other hand to push hair out of his face, not sure what to do.

He was hurt, quite obviously, and I felt the need to check for more injuries besides the bleeding nose.

He looked up at me, hazel eyes dark.

My fingers skimmed down his face and my eyes ran down his body, looking for any obvious signs of pain.

"I'm fine," he told me quietly, as my fingers skimmed down him in concern. He flinched a bit as my fingers ran down his ribs, so I paused, touching his sides gingerly, but he didn't flinch again. "M-my jaw hurts and my nose has been bleeding for a while now," he told me, looking down. "But I'm fine."

I didn't speak.

I couldn't speak.

I was too confused and worried and shocked to speak.

"I'm fine," he said again.

"A- are you okay?" I said, though, the words burning my throat. "You don't look okay."

Frank stepped away from me and I reached out, worried, but he just turned away, not looking at me.

"Frank?"

He walked to the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. I heard the door click, locked.

Mikey looked at me and I just stared.

"What do you think happened?" he whispered.

I shook my head, wide-eyed. I wrapped my left hand around the fingers of my right one and then reversed, pulling on my own fingers nervously. I was probably wrecking some muscles or tendons in my fingers right now, but I didn't know what to do with my hands and I felt too clumsy and useless to even cross my arms over my chest. I just stood there, wringing my hands and trying not to just burst through the bathroom door and hug Frank until he was all better.

"I- I don't know..." I confessed.

I stood in front of the bathroom door for eleven minutes, waiting, my ear pressed against the door in concern.

No sound came from anyone in the house, the only thing I could hear was my own breathing.

Eventually, though, I heard Frank take a deep, shuttering breath, and release it in a terribly painful manner.

He was crying.

I closed my eyes, not sure what to do.

I listened for a few minutes, the sound of his tears making my heart hurt.

Eventually, he called my name, loudly, voice wavering and cracking and turning into a half-desperate shout midway through the word, breaking the syllables into a terrible wail.

"Yeah?" I whispered immediately.

He paused for a moment, his voice shaking. "I- I'm sorry."

I paused, too. "For what?"

Something inside of the door clicked, letting me know the door was unlocked, and I pushed the door open immodestly.

He plopped back in to a sitting posisiton on the bathroom floor, back pressed up against the wall, a small crumpled mess of blood-stained toilet paper on the tile floor.

The skin between his right nostril and upper lip was stained red.

He looked... Pitiful. Pitiful and young.

Pitiful, and young, and scared.

He looked broken.

He sat with his legs pulled up, against his chest, his arms wrapped around them and his chin resting on his knees. He hadn't bothered to wipe away any of his tears, and he didn't try to hide them.

I dropped to my knees next to him, and he just looked at me.

His hair had gotten long-ish again, I noticed, his bangs falling over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. A tear rolled down his cheek, clinging to his chin, and I reached over, wiping it away with my thumb.

"What are you sorry for?" I whispered. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry for making y-you worry," he said quietly, hiccuping.

I stared at him and he just looked up at me with that pitiful look in his eyes, and that scared, terrified, trembling and shaking of his fingers.

His hands were scraped and bloody, the tips of his fingers stained red.

"Come here," I whispered, standing up.

He did as I asked, wrapping his arms around himself, not seeming to notice the blood on his hands. He still had on his jacket, and he was shaking everywhere; I couldn't tell if he was cold, in shock, or just plain sad.

I patted the surface of the sink counter and he seemed to get the message, sitting there, using his torn-up hands to push himself up. I almost smiled as I noticed his feet didn't touch the floor. I pushed the observation out of my head, though- there was a job to be done here, so I might as well get to it.

"Are you cold?" I asked him.

He shook his head, so I helped him take off the jacket, tossing it over the edge of the bathtub. The end of the sleeve was stained with blood, and there was mud and dirt on it, too- it needed to be washed.

I looked back at Frank and noticed the dirt smudged on his face, and his fingers, and everywhere else, too. He looked like he'd been hit with some type of disgusting mud ball, or something. Like a really violent snowball war had turned nasty.

He noticed the mud and blood on his jacket, too, sighing. "I'm glad I wasn't wearing the cardigan. Dark green fabric and red and brown don't exactly mix."

I nodded.

I ducked down to get a wash cloth from under the bathroom sink, and then wet it, sending Frank a look from the corner of my eyes.

He was just staring at his hands.

I sighed, using one hand to push the hair out of his face and using the washcloth to wipe that still red spot above his mouth, and then the side of his face, and then I wiped his forehead, too. He looked up at me while I did that, and I sighed again, trying not to meet his eyes. "Your forehead..." I wiped at the small cut there and he flinched, closing his eyes. "Sorry. Does it sting?"

"Kind of."

I nodded. "Okay. Just..." My teeth scrapped the inside of my bottom lip, chewing nervously. "It's gonna' sting, I guess, okay?" I felt so useless. "I don't... I'm not good at this stuff, so..."

"It's okay," he said quietly. He gave me a small smile that was so fake it hurt. "You're trying, and that's what counts."

I just avoided eye contact- I didn't know how to deal with this situation. I didn't know what to say or do, or even where to look. I didn't know if asking questions about what happened would make him uncomfortable or not.

He was so fucking covered in dirt and blood, and it was making me so frustrated that I was considering just taking him out to the backyard and striping his clothes off so I could hose him down with warm water until he was clean... And then my imagination might have started to play with my head, and his boxers just might have been gone, too, but I shook the mental image away and got back to reality.

Maybe I was the one who needed to be sprayed down with a hose.

But with cold water instead of warm, thanks to Frank.

I really do need to learn to control my hormones. The fact that they were starting to play with my imagination really should be a sign that they were getting out of hand.

Frank sighed, quietly, as I pulled my hand away from his face.

I took his fingers in mine, wiping carefully at his skin. His hands were completely torn up, the left one more-so than the right.

It looked like he'd fallen off of a bike and skidded a few feet.

"Y- you don't have to do this," he told me, as I lifted his other hand. I kept my eyes focused on his hands, because he was staring at me. I kept my eyes focused on his pale fingers and his smooth palms and his callused fingertips, and at first they did a very good job distracting me, because I've always kind of had a thing for Frank's hands, but I couldn't help but see him staring at me.

He was looking up at me through his bangs, like an adorable little puppy or something, his bottom lip trembling, slightly.

"I can take care of myself," he whispered, staring at me. "I'm not a kid."

"I know," I whispered back, even though he really did look only about fourteen years old right then. I let go of his hand and he dropped it into his lap. "But you're not all grown up, either, Frank..."

"But neither are you," he protested.

"I'm older than you," I reminded him. And I was struck with the sudden realization that I really was older than him.

My eighteenth birthday would come, soon enough.

Not that I wasn't going to tell him when it came around this summer, because he'd figure it out himself eventually, but I felt uncomfortable with the knowledge that I would legally be an adult soon, and he was still a teenager.

I didn't feel like an almost-adult, not at all. I felt about as helpless as a baby, sometimes. I still felt like a kid, most days, like the same clumsy middle school idiot I've always been, the "faggot with the attitude and weird hair," as my classmates used to put it.

"Just by a little bit," Frank protested, voice small. He watched as I dropped the now dirty and slightly blood-stained washcloth in the sink. "No more than a year."

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning down, kissing his forehead. "Just by a little bit."

He sighed a heavy sigh, and kept his gaze away from mine.

I carefully put my fingers on his jaw, and then his neck, and then his shoulder, and then my fingers came to a rest on his side. He shivered, slightly.

"Where does it hurt?" I whispered.

"Everywhere," he said. He looked up at me, leaning in to my touch, something he didn't do often. "Everything hurts."

I sighed and hugged him, and I knew it was probably making it hurt worse, but he didn't protest.

His face nuzzled against my shoulder and his fingers pressed against my spine, softly.

"I'm sorry," he said, breath warm against my neck. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

I sighed, closing my eyes. I just wanted to hug him forever. "Don't apologize, Frankie. It's not your fault."

"But it is," he protested, pushing me away, slightly. His hands stayed on me, though, which I was both thankful for and scared of. His palms rested flat against the bones of my hips, his fingers spread out, pressing against me. I wanted to both run away and kiss him, all at the same time. "It's all my fault."

His eyes were watering.

"No it's not," I told him again, pulling his fingers off of me. "Whatever- whatever happened, whoever did this, wasn't because- just don't blame yourself, okay?"

"You don't know that," he said, voice quivering. He closed his eyes, tight, and I just wanted to kiss him, because oh, god, I knew that look far too well. "It's all my fault."

"It's not," I said again. "You know it's not, Frankie."

His watering eyes finally spilled over, like rain, like someone had shattered the sky, and it broke my heart.

I didn't like seeing Frank cry.

It made me feel terrible, and guilty, like he shouldn't be crying, ever, as long as I was there.

I should be able to protect him, so why the hell wasn't it working?

"Stop that," I whispered. I sat on the counter next to him. "Frank, don't- don't cry..."

He just kept crying, though, and I knew I wasn't at all helping.

I'm a terrible person. I know that now, I know that I really am horrible. I couldn't offer any comfort to Frank, not one ounce of help. I didn't know how to.

I'd never been taught how to make someone happy. I'd been taught how to please, of course, I knew how to give people what they wanted and how to make them content, but no one had ever taught me how to dry up tears and plant a smile on a face, and no one had ever taught me how to make that smile bloom.

"Please," I whispered. My fingers touched his shoulder, and his neck, and his face, and he just pulled himself away. His fingers pressed against his face and he was sobbing. "Please," I begged. "Don't do this. Don't cry, baby, please..."

"I hate this," he said, voice shaking, everything shaking. "I hate it. All of it."

"Hate what?" I whispered, putting my hand on his shoulder. To my relief, he didn't try to move away.

"Everything!" he half shouted. He looked at me and it hurt, it physically hurt to look at him, at the pain that twisted his face like that. "Life, Gerard!" he yelled. "I hate life! I hate living! It's not fucking worth it anymore!"

I didn't know what to say, because honestly, I agreed. There wasn't much purpose to life, not at all. In a hundred years I won't matter. I might be someone's great great grandpa or someone's great great uncle, or something, but I won't make a difference. In a thousand years I'll be someone's ancestor, some name in the back of someone's family history book. In a million years, I'll be an unnamed, unremembered part of human history, nothing more than a pile of bones, decomposing with the rest.

And, well, in a billion years, the sun probably will have exploded by then, and the entire earth will have gone up in smoke and flames and nothing, no one, not a single person or thing that's ever existed or happened will ever make a difference, because eventually, the human race is going to die out, and it's pointless to just make ourselves suffer.

Frank didn't stop crying for a while.

We sat there, the two of us, on the bathroom counter, my arm around his shoulders. To my surprise he leaned willingly into my touch, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face against me; sometimes he cried into my neck, and sometimes into my shoulder, and sometimes he'd rest his head in the crook between them and get really quiet, and then he'd just start sobbing all over again.

I didn't mind. I really didn't. I understood. He hadn't cried in a while, as far as I knew, not since December, not since right before our "togetherness" started. He needed to cry, I think.

There was a certain relief, in tears. Like a pressure was being removed from your chest. It was nice, most of the time, in the long run of things. Sometimes it made your head hurt and sometimes it got hard to breathe, but in the end... It was nice.

"I hate life," Frank whispered suddenly, startling me. "I don't like it. I never have." I sighed, looking him. "I want to die," he whispered. We'd been sitting here for thirty-seven minutes, in complete silence, up until this point. "I don't fucking care anymore. No one would miss me but you and maybe Mikey and your mom and maybe my mom, but that'd be it."

"No you don't," I told him, quietly. "You don't want to die. People would miss you."

"Yes I do, and no, they wouldn't."

And I didn't aruge, because I did, too, and I knew that it was the same situation for me.

I pressed my lips to the top of his head, instead, at least pretending to be saying no. His hair was soft, and warm, and honestly, I did have something to say, but I'd completely lost my train of thought.

"Thank you," he whispered, against my shoulder.

"For what?" I whispered back, into his hair.

"For not asking questions."

I sighed, resting my head on top of his. "Y- you're welcome, I guess... But if you want to, uh, talk about it, or-"

"Talking would be nice," he said, pulling away from me, nodding. His fingers reached up, touching his jaw. "My face hurts," he whispered.

I sighed, standing up off of the counter, in front of him. He tilted his head back to look up at me, and I just looked back, running my thumb gently across his cheek, smearing more than wiping away his tears. "I know, baby," I whispered, pressing my lips against his forehead. "I know it hurts."

He flushed a slight shade of pink, keeping his head down but still looking up at me, those honey-hazel eyes making me warm. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because... Just... I don't know. I'm not used to it."

I looked down. "Okay..."

He looked at me, warily. "You're totally still going to call me that, aren't you?"

I laughed, slightly, ducking my head and avoiding his gaze. "Have I really gotten that predictable?"

Frank just shrugged. "Well, I just know for a fact that when you have your mind set on something, you don't let go of it easily..."

"Oh, is that a bad thing?"

"No. No, not at all." He allowed himself a tiny smile. "I mean, that's how we ended up here, isn't it?"

I chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, I guess that's right..." I trailed off, noticing how a slight bruise was already beginning to form on his jaw. My fingertips touched the side of his face again. "What happened to you?" I asked finally. "Who did this to you?"

He looked down. "I- it's no big deal."

"They made you cry," I said, dropping my fingers away from my face. "They hurt you." My fingers curled into fists. "It's a huge deal."

Frank just looked at my hands for a few seconds, the angry fists that I hadn't meant to form. "This kid named Ross and some of his friends, if you must know... Called me a faggot and shoved me around a bit, and I fell in the road, and... Well, it's nothing new, I mean-"

"So you know them? This has happened before?"

He nodded. "Y- yeah. They go to school with me."

I felt my fingers curl tighter together. If they went to school together, then there was no telling how long stuff like this had been going on.

His hand touched mine gingerly, both of his hands wrapping around one of mine. He forced me to stretch out my fingers. "Don't be mad," he said, quietly. "It's nothing new."

"Which makes it even worse, Frank!" I pulled my hand away from him. "If they've been beating you up like this, then-"

"It's fine," he said. "I can take care of myself!" he insisted, glaring at me.

"Not-"

"I don't want you involved in this crap, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to-"

"I can handle it myself," he said. I just looked at him. "I'm not a kid."

"But you're not an adult, either," I reminded him.

"But neither are you, so..."

I looked away and he stared at me.

"Right?" he said, catching my strange expressions. "You're seventeen, right, Gerard?"

"Not for long," I muttered.

He paused for a second, eyes going wide. "Wait. What? When do you turn eighteen?"

I shrugged, not bringing myself to look him in the eye.

"It's no big deal, I mean..."

"No bid deal? Gerard, it's a huge deal, it's your birthday. When is it?"

I glared at him. I wasn't in the mood to argue about this- my age wasn't relevant to the situation.

"Your jaw," I said instead. "Where does it hurt?"

He stared at me, twitching his head slightly to make his bangs move from in front of his eyes. "Gerard... When's your birthday?"

I reached my fingers up to his face, pressing on his cheek slightly. "Does that hurt?"

"Gerard, I'm serious, wh-"

I touched another spot on his cheek, trying to ignore him. "What about that?"

"Gerard?"

I kept touching different spots on his jaw.

"When the hell is your birthday, Ger-" He stopped, suddenly, flinching away from my hand as I evidently found where his jaw hurt. "Stop, goddammit. That hurts!"

I sighed, rolling my eyes and pulling my fingers away from his face. "In a month, okay?"

There was a small pause, one that I took as a chance to internally scream at myself for being an idiot.

"How are you in the eleventh grade, then, if you're turning-"

"I'm not."

He paused. "What?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to be eighteen soon, and I'm a grade higher than you in school, now, okay?" I looked away. "That's it." I could feel him staring at me. "That's all there is," I said quietly.

He stared at me. "So you've been lying."

I sighed.

"Why did you lie?" he asked, loudly. He looked so offended.

I looked away, knowing he was about to get mad.

"Gerard?" he said loudly, foot tapping me. "Why did you lie to me?"

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Gerard, answer me!"

"Frank-"

"Gerard!"

I looked at him, tearing my wrist away from his hand. "Because I didn't think you'd like me, okay?" I admitted, louder than I meant to be. I was pissed at myself and I was pissed at him, and I was pissed at my age and my grade and school systems and the entire fucking world. "Honestly, I forgot I even fucking lied in the first place! I don't even know why I did it."

"But-"

"I guess I just thought that if you knew that I had to go to college in a year, you'd freak out on me..."

I couldn't even remember lying to him. How long ago had that been? When we first met?

Dear God, I regret every word of it.

He stared at me and I looked away again.

"So you lied," he repeated, quietly. "About what grade you're in?"

"Yes. It wasn't like I lied about my actual age, or anything, though, and-"

"Because you thought it'd scare me off?"

I looked at my feet.

When he put it like that, I sounded like an idiot.

And I really was an idiot.

I could hardly even remember lying- that seemed like it happened so long ago, and I guess it was. Before Frank and I were even really friends, let alone in a relationship.

I'd honestly just done it because I thought the age difference, even though it was small, would scare him away. I didn't want to deal with the fact that I'd be out of high school before him, I didn't want to deal with the fact that I'd be an adult before him, I didn't want to deal with the fact that I'd be doing everything before him.

I didn't want the future to come so fast.

I just wanted to be with Frank.

Everything else, at this point, was irrelevant.

"Gerard, you should have told me," he said. "You should have just told me."

"But-"

"But I wish you had," he said, sounding hurt. "If you have to go to college next year, then- I- I don't-"

He was looking everywhere but me.

"You have to leave... Fuck, Gerard, you have to leave," he whispered.

I sat on the counter next to him.

"I know," I told him, covering my face with my hands. "I'm sorry."

"College," he spat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was that important-"

"Important? Of course it's fucking important! Our relationship is important to you, isn't it?"

I nodded, blinking. "O- of course, but-"

"And the fact that you have to go to college, which is something that could possibly end that relationship, isn't?"

"Frank, I-"

"You didn't think that maybe I would want to know?"

"I'm serious! I didn't realize..."

He stared at me for a long second. "Fuck you," he said, quietly, voice defiant. He raised his chin a bit, looking straight at me. "Fuck you and fuck this stupid fucking relationship, Gerard."

I looked away, because he was right. There wasn't much more to say, but, "I'm sorry."

His reaction was instant, taking me by surprise, his arms going around my shoulders, his face pressed against my neck.

"You have to leave," he said, voice angry. "You lying asshole." His fingers dug into my shoulder. "You have to leave me next year, Gerard, you bastard."

"I'm not-"

"Don't lie," he said, and I could feel his lips against my neck as he spoke, and oh, god, this was a terrible time for him to be touching me with his lips. "You have to go." His voice shook. "I know you do."

"I'm not lying," I said. "I'm not going to-"

He pulled away suddenly, staring at me. "Yes you are," he said. "You have to. You're going to college Gerard, and you can't take me with you. I'm not worth that."

"I-"

"You're not fucking skipping out on college because of your pansy excuse for a best friend," he said, blatantly insulting himself. "I'm not worth that!"

"But-"

"You're going to art school," Frank insisted, sad and angry and serious. "Or something like that. And you're going to grow up and be the world's best artist, or piano player, or whatever."

"Frank, I'm not leaving you," I insisted.

He crossed his arms, glaring at me. "How is that going to work out?"

I rolled my eyes. He really was clueless, wasn't he?

"Look, North Carolina may not have the best art schools or anything, the one in New York is like ten times better, but I'm gonna' make it work, okay?"

He looked away. New York had been my first choice for college- it always had been, and he knew that.

"But, Gerard, New York... New York City, and art, and-"

"And I'm not going out of state for college," I told him. "I don't have the money to, anyway. I'm staying right here, with you... In fact, I'm probably gonna' live off campus, anyway. I'd die if I had to live with a roomate that I didn't know well."

He laughed, once, because he knew it was true.

"I'll probably be in this fucking house until I die," I told him.

Frank paused for a long second, and then turned his gaze to our feet, mine just barely scrapping the floor and his dangling there. "That's not true," he said.

"Frank-"

"You're not going to live here forever, Gerard," he insisted. "You've got a future. You've got so much potential, Gee..."

He looked up at me, peering through those too-long bangs again. I was considering just taking a pair of scissors and cutting them myself, because he was so cute that it was toxic.

"I refuse to stay with my mom forever," he said. "And you're gonna' start annoying your mom with that piano, ya' know..."

I felt the ghost of a smile on my lips as I realized what he was saying.

"And your mom's not gonna like it once we get a dog, either," he said, distantly, eyes slightly out of focus. He stared at the floor. "She'll kill it if it pees on the carpet." His nose wrinkled. "And I guess once we get that cat of yours, we're gonna' have to have like a closet or something for the litter box, because that shit's not going in the kitchen and it sure as hell isn't going in the bedroom."

I felt my heart skip a beat when he said "the bedroom," as stupid as that sounds. "The" implied one, and "one" implied one bed, and that implied... Well, it implied a lot.

"And we're going to have to have like an extra room for your art or something, and then somewhere to keep your piano and my guitar, so I guess we'll have to have like a music and art room or some shit like that..." He looked up at me, smiling slightly, shaking his head. "And damn, Gerard, what are we going to do with all of your clothes...?"

I blinked at him, unable to keep the smile off of my lips. "You're totally construction blueprints in your head right now, aren't you?" I asked quietly.

He chuckled a bit, looking away. "Damn right, I am... We're gonna' have a nice house, Gerard. And you're gonna' pay for it with that art of yours."

I rolled my eyes dramatically "Oh, yeah, make me do all of the work. What do you want to be when you grow up, anyway, kid?"

He rolled his eyes, too, but was slowly turning a shade of pink. "Long story..."

"Come on, I won't laugh... Maybe."

He glared up at me, and then glared at his shoes, and then back at me, but he was still smiling. "I don't exactly know. Something with pictures or music or writing or... I don't know." He shrugged. "Pictures. Photography. Photographs."

I raised an eyebrow. "You like photography?"

He shrugged, still a light shade of cherry red. "Yeah. I- I mean, have you ever looked in to how cameras capture light? It's some pretty badass stuff..."

I just laughed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because! No one really knows, except for my mom. But that's just 'cause she paid for my camera. Those things are expensive."

"Bring it," I said. "Next time you go home grab your camera."

"Why?"

"Because... I'll play piano for you and show you all of my art, if you play guitar for me and show me all of your pictures."

Frank laughed and blushed, looking up at me. "You do realize that you basically just said 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,' right?"

"Yes," I snickered. "But I said it in a really geeky, art-involved way, so it doesn't count."

His shoulder bumped against mine and I just looked over at him.

"Ya' know, Frankie," I said quietly, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm glad that... That we're... Well, that we are whatever we are."

He laughed, setting his head on top of mine. "I am, too, Gee."

My hand snuck around his waist, fingers curling around the bottom of his t-shirt. "You have dirt all over you clothes."

Frank nodded, looking at my hand. "I know. I was gonna' change before the date, anyway, don't worry."

I looked up at him, my head fitting perfectly in the curve of his shoulder at this angle. "Can I help?"

He flushed red. "No."

"But-"

"Absolutely not."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Frank's POV  
Author's note:

Long time no see, everybody... Heck, how are all of you? It's been nearly a month, maybe over a month, I'm terrible at keeping track of time...

Anyway.

I really have no excuse as to why you had to wait for this chapter, except for laziness, lack of interest, not enough time, and good old fashion depression... It's, uh, getting better, though, kind of, and I finally forced myself to just get this chapter over with so I could move on to Gerard's POV for chapter 19 (because Gerard is always easier for me to write, for some reason.) See, I'm one of those weird writers who gets so emotionally involved with her writing that I can't write lies. You know what I mean? If I'm depressed, I can't write happy, because it feels like a lie, and if I'm writing a depressing scene, I naturally start to become depressed. (I've developed quite a vicious cycle for myself- masochistic tendencies, emotion-wise, if we're getting specific. Someone once said that you can become addicted to depression, and that's most definitely happened to me. I'm not content unless I'm depressed... You'll notice, not in this chapter but later on in the story, just how many of my own emotions, feelings, and opinions I inject into my own characters, if you remember that. "I'm not content unless I'm depressed.")

So, enough of my lame excuses. This is the longest chapter to date- a full 18 pages in my word document- so I suppose that's my sorry-I'm-such-a-depressed-loser-who-can't-at-least-pretend-to-be-happy apology gift, or some stupid sentimental shit like that, haha.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I've lost half of my readers by now... And this chapter kind of sucks, by the way. Since it's so long and it's currently almost 5 in the morning (I haven't gotten more than six hours of sleep any day of the past week. Shortest being three and a half, after a The Smashing Pumpkins concert, and the longest being about five and a half,) I've only read over this once, whereas I normally reread it at least five times before posting, do three OCD-induced spell checks, and reread the middle section about a million times.

Enough of my rambling, though. You may want to reread Chapter 17 before you read this, just to refresh your memory, or just reread the ending of Chapter 17.

Hope you enjoy, yeah? Point out any mistakes, please? Thanks, everyone.

\---

"Stop," I shrieked, sounding like an idiot. I laughed, shoving Gerard away, stumbling a bit and giggling as he caught me. The second we walked into his bedroom, he was all over me, joking and pushing and laughing, pulling at my shirt. "What the fuck," I grinned, twisting away from him, as soon as I'd regained my balance. "I said no!"

He just smirked, reaching for the hem of my shirt again. "Your fingers are all scraped up though," he said innocently. "If you try to change yourself you're going to get dirt in the scratches."

I squirmed, probably fifty different shades of pink and red; I was blushing hard, the result of a strange mixture of laughter, embarrassment, and nervousness.

"Stop!" I chuckled, fighting to keep my shirt on as he continued to tug it upwards. He was right about my hands, though- they stung, really badly. Being shoved onto the pavement and skidding a few feet had really done some damage, I realized, trying not to think about how much playing the guitar with scraped up fingers was going to hurt... And how I wouldn't be able to hold his hand without it stinging, for that matter. "You're not undressing me, Gerard-"

He latched his arms around me suddenly, apparently giving up on the shirt, and took me by surprise, knocking me backwards onto his bed. He landed half on top of me, chuckling.

"Gerard," I laughed, trying to shove him off of me, which resulted in him pulling me closer, sloppily pressing his lips to my cheek. "You're gonna' have dirt all over your bed. And you, for that matter."

"I don't mind getting dirty," he said, smiling a soft, sarcastic smile. He pressed his lips to my cheek again, softer and smoother and sweeter and closer to my mouth this time.

I rolled my eyes, finally giving up. He looked tired and I didn't feel like arguing about whether or not he had meant that in more ways than one or not.

I was stretched out on my back and he was at an angle, on his side, laying next to me, an arm draped over my chest, chin resting on top of my head.

"So," I said, closing my eyes. I tilted my head back, pressing up on his chin, and he made a soft, content sound, stretching his neck.

I had a question, but I was so comfortable that I didn't want to ruin the moment by asking it.

His fingers touched my hair, playing with a few strands of it, and I sighed. He took a deep breath, too, leaning away slightly and leveling our eyes. "You're warm," he informed me quietly.

I laughed, nodding, leaning forward and pressing my face against his shoulder. "You are, too," I said.

His fingers kept playing with my hair, making it hard to focus. "Did you have a question, a few seconds ago? It sounded like you were going to say something."

"Oh," I said, blinking at him. "Yeah. When... When are we leaving for this date? And... Where are we going?"

He smiled. "Well, we're leaving whenever you're ready, but the places that we're going will remain secret until we get there."

I have to admit that I pouted, just a bit. "Really? But I want to know..."

He pressed his lips to the top of my head. "Just go change so we can leave, and then you'll see exactly where we're going."

I sent him a look. "Changing in front of you makes me uncomfortable sometimes."

"Really?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

I laughed, sitting up. "Because I can feel you staring at me."

He sat up, too, reaching for the hem of my shirt.

"Gerard," I said, trying to sound menacing.

"Frank," he said, giving me that look that made me sigh and give in, rolling my eyes. I let him pull my shirt up and over my head, raising my arms and twisting away and out of the fabric.

Even though he was careful to not let our skin touch, I was blushing like an idiot.

He beamed in triumph, watching as I got up and crossed the room. "I could look away, but, I choose not to... You're too attractive to look away from."

I just rolled my eyes again, knowing he was wrong. I most certainly was not attractive, in the least sense of the word.

"You go from sweet to 'I'm about to molest you,' really fast, ya' know?" I said.

He just laughed.

"I'm gonna' steal a shirt, okay?"

"Okay. Like most of them don't already belong to you, anyway."

I grinned at him over my shoulder. "Can I just, like, have your closet? You have way too many clothes, anyway."

"Take what you want," he chuckled, rolling onto his stomach. I watched as he stretched, reaching his fingers as far as they would go. "Just remember to share."

I nodded, pulling one of the smaller looking shirts off of a hanger. "Like seventy-five percent of everything you own is black," I observed, slipping on the plain shirt, adjusting it around me.

"Like my soul," he crooned dramatically, rolling back onto his side. "Like the night sky, like thine thoughts, thou shalt wear black!"

I stared at him for a few seconds, and then I couldn't help myself, I was totally laughing at him. "What the hell are you quoting?"

"Nothing!" he said, a little too proud. "I'm just so amazing that I can sound like I'm quoting something all the time!"

I plopped down on the bed next to him again, landing eye-to-eye with him.

"You're a dork, you know that, right?"

"But I'm your dork," he clarified. "So that makes it okay."

I was probably blushing, but I guess he was right.

"Aren't you going to change your jeans?" he asked, resting a suspicious hand on my hip.

"Aren't you only asking that because you want to see me pant-less?"

He smiled, his fingers curling slightly against the waistband of my jeans. "You have a nice ass."

I was blushing harder, I think.

"It's true!" he insisted, uncurling his fingers. "I normally don't notice stuff like that, but I'm dead serious."

I rolled over, staring at the wall, my face burning as his hand fell away from my side. "Like I said before, you go from sweet to molestation way too fast, Gee... Is your soul purpose in life embarrassing me?"

"I don't mean to!" he said, actually sounding sorry. "I'm just being honest..."

I forgave him, just enough to listen to what he had to say.

"Hey, what do you want to eat tonight?" His hand touched my arm so I rolled back over to face him, not being able to stay upset with him for too long, even though my cheeks were definitely still red. "I had a few places in mind, but I think you should pick since I'm picking everything else."

I shrugged, letting out a slow breath. "I dunno. There's this place down on Ninth Street that I've been wanting to go to..."

"We'll go there then," he decided. He looked at me for a few long seconds, and then he reached up his hand, putting his fingers lightly on the side of my face. "Hey, are you still okay with this? If you're not we don't-"

"I'm fine, Gee."

He looked at me skeptically.

"I swear," I told him. "Just don't, like, kiss me in the middle of the street or anything, and I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because I don't want to force you in to anything. You know that."

I rolled my eyes. "Gerard, fifteen minutes ago I was planning blueprints for our future house, and you're still skeptical?"

He shrugged, meeting my eyes. "I just want to be sure."

I leaned over, pressing my lips to his cheek. "Well, I'm sure. Okay? I'm positive. Isn't that enough?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But nothing," I said sternly. "I'm okay with this, I'm fine. The more skeptical you get the more nervous I get, so just stop. I'm gonna' fall in love with you one day, remember?"

He looked at me for a long second, and then said in a small voice that made him sound like a child, "Promise?"

"I promise, Gerard," I said, my voice going soft in response to his change of tone. "I promise if you do."

He nodded. "I promise." He looked more terrified than I felt.

I put my hand on the side of his face, letting our foreheads rest against one another. "Why do you look so scared?" I asked him.

"I don't know."

"Well, are you scared?"

"I- I don't know, Frank. Maybe? Yes? Yes."

"Well, of what?"

"Of-" he sighed. "You're going to laugh."

"I'm not," I told him. "I promise, I won't." He still didn't look so sure, though, so I kissed his forehead. "You can tell me."

"I- Fuck, it sounds so selfish. I'm scared..." he closed his eyes. "I'm scared of hurting you, okay? Of getting hurt, rather. I don't want you to leave again, like last time, I don't want to be left alone like that again-"

"I'm not going to leave," I told him. "I'm not. I told you, I'm ready this time. I'm never going to let you be alone ever again, okay?"

"But Frank, what if-"

I pressed my lips to his cheek, closer to his mouth this time, in the spot where the dimples show up when he smiles.

"Stop being an idiot," I told him. "I like you, Gerard. I like you a lot. I like you more than anyone else in the whole wide world, and even if I am a little scared, I'm not going to let that stop us from being together."

He looked at me for a few more long seconds, and then grabbed my hands and sat up, pulling me with him. "Come on, then," he said. "Let's go."

\---

The waitress sat Gerard's coffee on the table and he smile appreciatively, saying something that sounded vaguely like "tack," and I raised my eyebrows at him, confused.

The waitress looked at him in surprise for a few seconds, probably trying to figure out what the fuck he was saying, like I was, but then she grinned, sputtering out happy-sounding words in some language that I didn't recognize and definitely didn't understand.

Gerard just laughed and nodded, as easily as if she'd spoken English, and I just kind of gaped at him as he was saying something back in whatever language it was that he could evidently speak.

The waitress laughed, nodding, and looked from Gerard to me and then back.

She said something else in that language and Gerard laughed, he laughed really loud, and said something back, something that made me blush even though I had no idea what the fuck he was saying.

The second she was gone, I looked over at Gerard, trying not to choke on my own spit in confusion. "What the hell?" I managed finally. "Were you guys talking about me?"

"What?" he said, chuckling, tilting his head at me. "Have I really never spoken Swedish around you?"

"Uh, no! Since when the fuck do you even speak Swedish?"

"Since middle school," he said, blinking at me, like I should have known.

I was about to say something else, but then the realization hit me. "Oh," I said, a little too loudly, my voice squeaking. I continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, but then looked down quickly, letting out a much smaller, much more sorry, "Oh."

He just nodded, raising his coffee to his lips, both hands wrapped around the cup. He stared into the mug blankly, like he was watching a memory play out in the coffee, or something. "Yeah. 'Oh.'"

He'd learned Swedish because of that boy, I'd realized. That Swedish boy, the one who I wanted to be like, the one who'd taught Gerard so much about himself without ever realizing it. He'd learned a complete other language because of that kid.

I looked down, at my cup of water, trying to decide what to say. "You seem pretty fluent," I told him, my voice uneven.

"I learned from him," he said, and I knew exactly who he was talking about. "I guess that happens when a native speaker teaches you."

"Was it easy to pick up?"

He sipped at his coffee. "Not at all."

"Oh."

"It was really fucking hard to learn, actually."

"Uh." I just looked at him as he stared into his coffee cup. "Okay? But. Uh. How'd you know the waitress speaks it?"

Gerard shrugged. "Accents are pretty easy to recognize after you're heard them enough."

I nodded. "Oh. Were, uh, were you guys talking about me?"

At that he laughed, a small, short laugh. "Possibly."

"Well, what were you saying?"

He didn't answer.

We were both quiet for a few seconds, and I stared at him, and he stared back, and neither of us spoke for what seemed like ages.

"You always get coffee," I observed, changing the subject and looking away.

Gerard smiled a small smile, lifting the mug to his lips, looking down into his cup again. "That's because coffee is good."

I laughed, slightly, not quite knowing what to say, sipping at my water while I scrambled for words. "Every day? That's all you ever drink, don't you ever get tired of it?"

"No," he said simply. "Don't you get tired of not eating meat?"

I rolled my eyes, trying not to be offended, even though I really was. He was just being a typical non-vegetarian, I had to remember. They never understood. "No. There's a lot more to it then that."

"Why did you choose to be vegetarian, anyway?" he asked, tilting his head. I appreciated the fact that he didn't say "go" vegetarian. It always pisses me off when people talk about my lifestyle like it's a fashion statement. "We've never really talked about that before."

"Because," I said, looking away. The place we were eating was called Elmo's, or something like that, and the windows looked out on a nice little street, with cars and people and everything in between. It was a pleasant little road... Maybe if I stared at it long enough, I would just disappear into it. "Society treats animals like shit."

"Yeah?"

I nodded, sending him a glance from the corner of my eyes. "We weren't meant to eat meat, anyway. We didn't evolve like that. We don't exactly have the teeth for it, or rather, we didn't used to... Not completely, but, uh, mostly, I think? Yeah. Yeah, mostly... And meat is hell on our digestive systems, sometimes, too... And then there's stuff like mad cow disease that's always popping up, you know about that stuff, right? Diseases that we only get from meat and whatnot?"

Gerard nodded, seeming to understand, which I was thankful for. "What did you mean, though, about the animals? I know that they're not treated the best, but..."

I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat, looking down at my glass of water, stirring the ice with my straw. It wasn't the fact that we were talking about animals that was making me uncomfortable- it was the way he was looking at me, nodding slowly, taking my word as gospel. I didn't like him putting so much faith into what I was saying. I mean, yeah, I'd done research on this stuff, I'm not an idiot, but if I screw up my information I don't want him to take it too seriously.

"They're shoved in small places," I told him, quietly. "They're fed whatever keeps them alive and healthy, which is almost always a bunch of unnecessary vitamins, and too much of a good thing isn't always helpful. They're surrounded by filth and other animals. It's cramped and even though they're healthy I can't imagine that they could ever be comfortable... And then there's the way they're slaughtered..."

I looked down at the table, laying my hands there.

"If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to," he said, resting his hand a few inches away from mine. I watched as he stretched his hand, our fingertips touching, and I sighed. I wanted to take his hand and hold it but the scrapes on my hands still hurt when they touched things, and skin against skin would probably feel like hell.

"Okay," I said, looking up at him and blinking a few times.

Conversation with Gerard had never been hard, so I didn't understand what was different now. We'd only been sitting here for five minutes, could I really already be screwing things up?

I wouldn't be surprised, if I was. I've screwed everything else up, so far, so of course I'd get our first date completely wrong.

He didn't seem to be bothered much by the silence, though. He just sat there, drinking his coffee and studying our fingers.

I couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not.

I wondered distantly how he never seemed to be bothered by lack of conversation. I didn't like not talking- I associated silence with arguments, because my mom and I always seemed to get really quiet after fights. I felt like if I wasn't making conversation, I must have screwed something up. If we weren't talking I must not be interesting, if we're not arguing I must not be worth anyone's time, and if we're not at least making small talk I must be practically nonexistent.

"Hey, you okay?"

I looked up, startled. "What? Yeah? I guess?"

"Why do you sound so unsure, then?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm fine though, it's just... Nothing, really."

He nodded, but didn't seem to believe me. "You don't like not talking, do you?"

I faltered a bit in surprise. "What? Why-"

"We can talk, if you want," he said, shrugging. "You just looked like you were going to say something, is all."

"O- oh. Uh. Okay."

I looked at him and he looked back.

"First dates aren't really my thing," I explained, uneasy. I felt like I was going to be sick, or like my heart was going to beat straight out of my chest, or like I was going to pass out, or like all three would happen at once.

He just sighed, though, even though I was on the brink of going insane. "Same here."

I didn't know what to do so I just looked at our hands, barely touching on the table. He suddenly flipped my hand over, my palm up.

He traced the scratches on my palm and fingers with his index finger, careful not to touch the actual injuries, but instead the skin around it.

I watched, shivering as his fingertip traced between my fingers, dragging up the side of one and slipping down it's other side.

"That feels weird," I told him, my voice strangled.

He looked up at me, continuing to drag his finger across my skin. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I said, a little too quickly.

He nodded, re-focusing his complete attention on my hand. Before I knew what was happening, his finger slid over my wrist, resting there, lightly; it stayed there for a few seconds, before slipping away.

"You'd be surprised by what parts of the body respond to touch," he told me, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug, lifting it to his lips. I pulled my hand back, feeling my fingers and toes curl at the sudden lack of his touch.

"Yeah?" I said, nervously, chewing the inside of my bottom lip to keep myself from asking or saying something stupid.

I was so used to him touching me- my hands, my arms, even if it was just the side of his shoe touching mine beneath the table- that realizing the actual moment in which he stopped touching me made me feel cold inside.

"Yeah. Like, for example, your pulse sped up just from me touching your hand, didn't it?"

I nodded, blushing, realizing that that's what his finger had been doing when it touched my wrist, taking my pulse, testing how fast he made my heart pound.

"But it normally doesn't do that, if we hold hands, does it?"

I shook my head, trying to think of something non-idiotic to say, but the Swedish waitress brought our food, so I was saved from having to respond. Gerard said something in Swedish and the waitress did too, distracting and confusing me, and I was so thankful for the distraction that I nearly forgot to say thank-you when she sat down my plate.

The waitress walked away and I forced a smile at Gerard as we poked at our food and took a few bites, and every single thought in my head sounded stupid beyond belief.

I just let my sentence fall to pieces. I'd say something terrible if I tried to speak, now- the memory of his fingers running over my palm was making me shiver.

"So," he said, looking at me. "How's school been?"

"Okay," I lied, stabbing my pancake with a fork. (Breakfast for dinner is one of the best things ever.)

He gave me a look, which I ignored.

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"For some reason, I don't believe you."

I shrugged. "Then don't, I guess, but it really has been okay."

He titled his head, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of scrambled eggs, scrunching up his nose slightly. "Okay, whatever. Who do you sit with, at lunch and whatnot, though? Like, if I were to walk into your school tomorrow, who would you be hanging out with?"

"No one, really... I don't have many friends, you know that. I sit outside during lunch so I don't have to deal with other people."

"And yet you never tan," he joked.

I laughed, nodding. "Long sleeves, jeans, and long hair will do that for you."

"Speaking of which, are you letting your hair grow out again?"

I shrugged, brushing my hair with my fingers and letting my bangs hang slightly over my eyes, wondering why he was asking. "I don't know. Maybe. Not too long, though... Why?"

I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. Did he not like my hair like this? I could of sworn he did...

He looked at me for a long second, tilting his head. "No reason, really... Let's just say that if you either don't stop letting your bangs hang in front of your eyes, or if you don't cut them soon, I might just go insane. You're too fucking adorable for your own good, Frankie, you know that?"

I laughed, feeling myself blush. "Yeah? Hate to break it to you, Gee, but I'm probably going to keep it this length for a while..." I liked my hair when it was just long enough to hide my eyes but still short enough to push out of the way. It was nice because I only liked making eye contact half of the time- otherwise, I just feel awkward being expected to look at people.

"How's homeschooling?" I asked. "Mikey seems to like it enough."

"It's okay," Gerard said, shrugging. "I kind of miss school, actually."

"Really?" I said, surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, school was never my favorite place to be, and I might be a bit of an introvert, but every once and a while I met some really nice people. With homeschooling it's just me and Mikey... Which is okay, but I never got a real school experience though, you know? We were always moving before I could get too close with anyone."

I nodded, looking down. "Except for me?"

Gerard smiled, foot brushing mine beneath the table. "Yep. And I'm glad." He tapped my foot with his. "You're a good person, Frank Iero, you know that?"

I forced a laugh. "Yeah? Well, you are too, Gerard Way."

He grinned, smile contagious.

The rest of dinner went pretty smoothly- we just talked and ate and every once and a while he would brush his ankle against mine or touch my hand, and once he reached over and pushed my hair out of my eyes, making me laugh and blush just a bit. We were slowly getting better about this whole "first date" thing, and soon it became exactly how Gerard had described it, way back in December- first dates are nothing but eating and talking and touching, and so that's what we did.

About thirty minutes into conversation, Gerard and I got into a debate about horror movies.

"Blair Witch Project is a classic!" I argued.

"No, The Shining was like-"

"They're two completely different categories! I don't even know why we're comparing the two!"

Gerard smiled that small, stupid half smile that both made me want to punch him and hug him. "The Shining is better, that's why."

"It is not!" I said loudly, his smile pissing me off.

One side of his smile pulled higher than the other, slightly, as he did that stupidly adorable, really fucking cute but really fucking annoying thing where he spoke from one side of his mouth. "It's Steven King, Frank, you can't argue with the God of Horror."

"Blair Witch Project was amazing! It was fucking revolutionary!"

"How so? The camera was fucking shaky, the ending sucked-"

"There's a sequel!"

"Which sucked!"

I glared at him. "People didn't even know that Blair Witch was a horror movie- they thought it was a documentary, like, real video. They didn't know what they were signing up for. You never see the witch, which makes it even more amazing. There's a website for it that still talks about it like it actually happened. They played it out like it was real, they never told anyone it was fake until they figured it out for themselves and until it came out on DVD and shit. It scared the hell out of everyone who saw it, and they never even actually show anything scary. The Shining is about a fucking nomadic vampire who's shitty excuse for a child sees hallways filled with blood and talks to his finger like it's his best fucking friend, or something, and sees those two creepy bitches at the end of the hall who talk in those creepy fucking voices at the same fucking time. The Shining was a shit excuse for horror, Gerard. It's fucking... It's fucking shitty, goddammit."

Gerard didn't speak for a second, but then he just started laughing, shaking his head, grinning at me.

"What?" I snapped. "You're laughing at my argument? Wh-"

He stood half-way up, suddenly, and leaned over the table, putting his hands on my face, pressing his lips to the tip of my nose, and then close to the corner of my mouth, which shut me up pretty well.

I blinked in surprise as he sat back down, feeling an angry and embarrassed and confused blush rising in my cheeks. "Wh- what? What was that for?" I felt the instant need to glance around, almost, to make sure nobody had seen a boy kiss me on the nose and nearly on the mouth, but then I realized how stupid that was and forced myself to look at Gerard.

He grinned at me, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I'm just trying to figure out how I got so lucky, is all... It's fucking adorable when you get angry, you know that? You cuss a lot, it's hot."

I looked down, my face probably red, and even though I knew I shouldn't be, I was glancing around the room to make sure no one was staring. When there were no laughs and no yells of 'faggot' or something equally as terrible, I just muttered out, "O- oh."

"I mean it, Frank," he said, fingers finding mine above the table. "I really couldn't ask for a better best friend."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that it wasn't true- Gerard could do a lot better than me. He could do a whole lot better than a kid with one too many issues and he could find someone who could be a lot more open and public with their relationship, but I didn't know how to say that without my voice shaking, so I didn't say anything at all.

"Come on," he said suddenly, hand slipping out of mine. He stood up and started walking towards the front counter to pay.

I blinked in surprise, not even caring that I hadn't finished my food, standing quickly and following him in confusion. "What? Where are we going?"

Gerard just looked at me over his shoulder, smiling a wide smile that I didn't understand as he payed the lady at the front counter and handed her a tip to give the waitress, and then he grabbed my hand, carefully, and then we were leaving.

It all happened so suddenly that I didn't even have time to think about that fact that he was holding my hand and that he was a boy and that I was a boy and that someone might see two boys holding hands. All I really knew was that Gerard was dragging me down the sidewalk with a smile on his face that made me smile, too, so I went along with it and didn't ask questions, even though I had a thousand of them.

"Come on," he said, squeezing my fingers, gently, somehow managing not to hurt the scrapes on my hand. "Walk faster."

"The park?" I asked, slightly confused as Gerard pulled me into the familiar setting. "Why?"

"Because," he said. He didn't head towards the swings, which only confused me further. "There are trees here."

I watched as he walked over to a tree, and then felt my lips part in amazement as he pulled himself onto the lowest limb, beaming down at me.

"Ever climbed trees as a kid?" he asked, adjusting himself until he was comfortable.

"Fuck yes," I nearly squealed, sounding a million times more idiotic than I really was. I could already feel the bark beneath my fingers- climbing trees was something I'd done often as a child. (When my mom yelled at me, I'd just go sit in the tree in the backyard with a marker and draw on the tree and my clothes and myself until I either ran out of ink or ran out of room, and on days that I could, I brought a box to stand on so I could make an easier time of getting into the tree, and I would sit up there and play my guitar.)

I probably would've asked Gerard to go tree-climbing with me a long time ago, if I'd thought he'd be up for it.

I made a grab for a tree limb, but pulled my hands back instantly, curling them against my stomach in reaction to the sharp sting. "Fuck."

Gerard looked at me for a few seconds, and then I think he understood, because he said, "Oh."

"I'd come up anyway, I don't mind if it hurts," I told him, honestly, craning my neck to look at him and then looking back down at the scrapes on my hands. "But I don't want to get like a splinter or anything. That'd just make it worse."

"It's okay," Gerard said. "We can... I'll get you up here. One second."

I raised curious eyebrows as he shifted around a bit, wrapping his legs around a branch and balancing himself somehow, holding onto the tree with one hand and stretching his other arm down towards me. "Here. One hand on me, one hand on the tree. That'll be easier, right?"

I nodded, and together, we somehow managed to make it work.

We settled into our respective branches- Gerard's slightly higher, and to the right of mine.

"What's the point of this?" I asked him.

He pointed vaguely to the horizon. "Watch."

I turned my head and saw what he was talking about- the sunset.

It was brilliant. It was orange and pink and red and yellow, and it was stretching out into the familiar blue of the day.

We watched the sunset for a long time- long enough for the warm and sugary colors to take over the entire sky.

For a while I kind of forgot Gerard was even there, the strands and streaks of colored light marking the sky and distracting me, allowing me to loose myself in thought. He touched my back, though, reminding me that I wasn't the only one in the world, and I lifted my hand, twining our fingers and ignoring the way the scrapes on my palm stung.

Suddenly, it seemed like it was just the two of us. Not just me and the tree, but me and Gerard and the tree and the sun and the sky.

For however long we sat in that tree, holding hands, we were the only two human beings alive.

Everyone else was dead to me in that moment, and I didn't even mind.

"I know they say not to talk about religion on first dates," he said, very quietly, so quietly that his voice wasn't an interruption to the silence, but nearly another whisper in the wind that hardly registered in my mind. "But do you believe in God, Frank?"

I paused for a moment- a really long moment. Did I believe in God? No, not at all. The better question was if Gerard did.

"Do you?"

"I asked first," he said almost immediately.

"No. Now, do you?"

There was a short pause. "Sometimes I think I do."

"Sometimes?" I said, turning my head to look at him. "I don't think religion is really a 'sometimes' type of thing, Gerard."

"I know." His fingers skimmed the side of my face. "I'm just saying... Sometimes I really believe that there's a God, and other times, I don't see how that could ever be possible..."

I just nodded. "Yeah. Like, miracles happen, but how the fuck did one man create the earth in six days, or whatever?"

"No, not exactly... More like, I believe in God in the sense of faith. As in, I believe that there is a spiritual being, who may live in whatever form he desires, who performs miracles and comforts those in trouble. I think that everyone has their own God, and they perceive Him in different ways. Some feel His presence very deeply, others don't believe in Him at all."

"And you feel His presence?"

Gerard nodded. "Yeah. As of the moment, I think She's this tree."

"She? And this tree? Really?"

Gerard shrugged. "He can take any form He desires, including that of the opposite gender and of plants. And at the moment, She is female, and She is this tree."

I nodded, kind of accepting his answer as one that made sense. I suddenly felt kind of awkward- we were literally sitting on God, if that's what Gerard believed, but he seemed so content that I supposed it was okay. I almost understood why- we were in God's arms, to Gerard, so what could possibly go wrong?

"What do you think about the whole idea of an afterlife?" I asked, curious.

"I think it's stupid."

"So what about hell? And heaven? And sinning? Stuff like that?"

He looked away, off in the direction of the sun and it's picture-perfect colors. "I believe," he said softly. "That every person has their own personal Hell, as well as their own personal Heaven. There's certain things in life that torment them, that drive them nearly to the point of insanity. And there are also things that give them pure bliss, and take them to the level of utmost happiness and contentedness with their life. I believe that Hell is depression, and anger, and something that only the worse of people ever fall into, and Heaven is a rare thing that only certain people can achieve... Life is purgatory, Frank, and we're all living in it. Heaven and Hell are just mental subsections of that purgatory, and it's up to us to decide which level of purgatory we're in."

I stared at him for a second, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, leaning my spine against Gerard's God's arms, suddenly having issues making myself comfortable on the branch. "Well," I said, quiet. "Where are you, Gerard? Heaven or Hell or still in purgatory?"

He shrugged, slightly, and looked down at his hands, picking at the skin on the tips of his fingers. "I'm in purgatory, as of the moment... But I've been to Hell and I've experienced Hell, and I think I've touched Heaven more than once, but I don't think I've ever really been in Heaven. I think Hell is my home, it's where I was born, so it's where I belong."

I couldn't decide if I wanted to yell at him or hold him or both, and I couldn't tell if I was upset or angry or just numb with disbelief.

"You don't belong in Hell, Gerard," I told him. "You don't, I know you don't... If anyone belongs there, it's me."

He glared at me, sharply. "Don't," he said, voice shaking slightly. "Don't say that. You know it's not true."

"But it is," I said, looking away. "Can we get out of this tree, please?"

"Frank, look at me."

"Gerard-"

"Fucking look at me, Frank-"

"Just get me out of the fucking tree!" I yelled, glaring at him, my fingers curling and my head hurting and my heart breaking at that hurt and angry look on his face.

"Don't," he said again. "Don't you ever fucking say that again. You deserve Heaven, Frank, nothing more, nothing less."

"Heaven?" I said, leaning back against the tree, trying not to laugh. "Heaven? If Hell is depression and anger, I'm the very definition of it, Gerard!"

"You're not!" he insisted. "Or at least... I don't want you to be..."

I looked up at him and he stared back, and something deep in my chest ached.

"I want Heaven for you, Frank," he said, the look in his eyes making me want to cry. "Can't I be your Heaven? Won't you let me help you out of Hell?"

And I think that meant more to me than anything else he had ever said.

"What about you," I whispered. "You said you've touched Heaven. When? How?"

He just smiled this small, tortured smile, one that twisted my heart. "You're my Heaven, Frank," he said, and I felt like crying. His fingers brushed the side of my face. "And you're my Hell, too."

I think I choked a little. "G- Gerard-"

"No, come on," he said, that tortured smile lingering on his lips. "Let's get out of this fucking tree, okay?"

"But, Gerard-"

"I'll explain once we're out of the tree, okay?"

I sighed. "Fine."

So I let Gerard help me out of the tree- and he clung to me like he hadn't seen me in years.

I sighed again, letting him hug me, my arms around his waist and his just holding me as close as physical possible. With my cheek pressed to his chest, his chin resting on my head, it was hard to be upset with him.

"I may not- I don't believe that stuff, the Heaven and Hell shit, Gerard, but I don't want you to be in Hell, if you believe in it."

"It's unavoidable," he whispered. "I can't just- I can't just choose if I'm in Heaven or Hell, I don't think it works like that..."

"But- You said..." I tried to muffle my voice in his shirt, I pressed my face against the smooth of his leather jacket and tried my best to say what I meant. "You said I'm both. Tell me what to do to make it better. Tell me how to make Hell go away forever."

"Frank, I can't-"

"You said," I reminded him. I leaned away and stared up at him. "Gerard, you said I'm both. So let me make it Heaven."

He sighed a small breath of air, turning his gaze to our feet. "There's nothing you can do to help, it's my own fault... I shouldn't have said anything."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you should."

I stretched up the best I could, having to lean onto my toes, and pressed my lips to the tip of his nose. "We're- I-" I fell back onto my feet, letting my arms drop to my sides, and he let his arms drop, too. "We're going to fall in love, right?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"A- and then... Then it won't be Hell anymore, right?"

He tilted his head, studying my face for a few moments. "I suppose not... Why?"

"Because." I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. "I don't want Hell for you. I want to get you the fuck out of there as fast as possible."

His fingers brushed mine and I turned my hand, letting him hold it. "Saying you love me won't fix anything unless you mean it, so don't do anything stupid, please..."

I sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I kind of figured... I was just thinking..."

He squeezed my hand. "Look, if you want to help, just... I don't know. Just keep being yourself and I'll do the rest, okay?"

I didn't like it, but I agreed. "Okay, I guess... Uh. What... What now?"

"Well." He squeezed my hand again. "There's this candy store near by..."

I smiled. "That sounds nice."

He smiled, too. "Yeah, I thought it would."

\---

The trip to the candy store was, simply put, weird, in the sense that Gerard and I were very publicly together while there.

When we walked in, there was one person working there, this girl with curly brown hair and a sweet smile. She kind of blinked at us oddly when Gerard held my hand, but after a few minutes she seemed to understand, and to my surprise and just didn't say anything about it. With just one other person in the room, I didn't feel nearly as nervous about being with Gerard as I did other places- fewer witnesses, less likely chance that someone's going to start insulting us.

As okay with it as I was, though (I'd even worked up the courage to kiss Gerard on the cheek,) it had still been really awkward picking out the candy because Gerard more or less forgot what the words "boundaries" and "personal space" meant, standing behind me with his arms around my waist, chin resting on top of my head.

"Get anything you want," he'd said, pressing his lips behind my ear.

In the end, we'd somehow managed to spend like twenty dollars on fudge and a small arrangement of chocolate, half of them for me and half for Gerard, and we went ahead and got Mikey some candy, too.

"This is outrageous," I said as we walked back to Gerard's house, standing close to him, bumping his shoulder with mine. "Who in their right fucking mind spends twenty dollars on candy?"

"Us, obviously," he laughed, slinging an arm around my waist. In his free hand was the bag with our candy in it, and I eyed it for a few seconds.

"I'm going to pay you back for at least half of that-"

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's a date, Frankie. And I'm the one who asked you out, so let me pay."

"Well, next time, I'm paying-"

"Nope. No you're not... Frankie, will you go on a second date with me?" He paused for a few seconds, but didn't let me answer. "See, now I've asked first, you have to let me pay. Oops."

I shook my head and sighed. "One day you're going to spend your last penny on me and we're going to have be one of those weird poor couples, the ones who walks dogs and babysit like seven different children... And then we'll have to live in your mom's basement until we're thirty."

"And I'd be fine with that," he grinned. "As long as you're the one who picks up the dog poop and changes the seven babysitting-kids diapers..."

"What?" I said, playfully gasping, pulling away from him in mock horror, trying not to laugh as he kind of stumbled in surprise. "That's so not fair! If I get the dog poop, you get diapers!"

"Ugh, but I hate kids!"

"Yeah, so do I, so..." I suddenly had a lot of weird thoughts in my head, about what would have happened if we did both like kids... An image of Gerard braiding a little girl's dark hair popped into my head and I tried not to laugh out loud. "Maybe we'd better stick to dog walking?"

He nodded, laughing. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah," I agreed. I couldn't get him and the non-existent little girl out of my head, though... "Hey, uh. Well."

I looked at him for a second and he looked back at me. "Yeah?"

I looked away. "Never mind. It's stupid."

"I highly doubt that." He put his arm around my waist again, and his lips touched my cheek. "You look kind of serious about whatever this is."

I sighed and looked at my feet, kicking a rock as we walked. "I was- well. I was just wondering, if, uh. Fuck. You're gonna' laugh."

"I'm not going to laugh."

"Yes you are."

He stopped in his tracks so I did, too, looking at him.

"I'd never laugh at you, Frank," he said seriously. "Never be scared to say anything around me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Whatever. But I was just wondering... Uh. Well." I twisted a few strands of hair around my finger, but remembered what he said the first time we met, about it not being healthy, so I dropped the strands and opted for putting my hands in my back pockets instead, rocking back on my heels and trying not to look too nervous. "About kids. And- and... Us. Uhm. I mean-"

He smiled a small, weird half smile. "Are you asking if I'd ever want to adopt kids, Frank?"

I nodded, feeling my cheeks get warm. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

He just smiled a bit more.

"You're laughing at me," I told him. "You're totally laughing."

"I'm not! I'm just imagining a little you running around the house and screaming, and playing a little miniature guitar or something."

I think my face got five degrees warmer at that. "What about a little you? That'd be cuter. Poking at a tiny little keyboard and drawing on the walls with crayons."

Gerard grinned. "Would not! I was an ugly kid."

"Oh, I doubt it," I huffed, trying not to laugh. "A little you would be fucking adorable. All chubby cheeks and cute hair and weird teeth and-"

"Weird teeth?"

"You have small teeth, what can I say? It's cute but it's also kind of weird."

He rolled his eyes. "And you're short."

I mock-gasped, slapping weakly at his arm. "Take that back!"

"Take back the teeth thing!"

"Never!"

"Then you're just going to be short for the rest of your life!"

I glared at him, in the most playful way possible. "I'm fucking glad that neither of us can get pregnant. Our kids would be annoying as hell," I decided. We started walking again. "If they have an attitude like yours."

"And a temper like yours, mind you."

I rolled my eyes and laughed because it was true. "Short, angry, insane little kids with an attitude and weird teeth... Because that's exactly what this world needs."

Gerard just laughed, bumping my shoulder with his. "Hey, at least they'd have musical talent, right? Guitar and piano is a pretty epic combination."

"They could start a band! 'The Way of the Iero' or something stupid like that."

Gerard laughed more. "That's the worst fucking band name ever! Just call them 'The Way.'"

"But that would imply that their last name would just be 'Way,' and there's no way in hell I'd ever change my last name."

"Oh, what, you don't think Frank Way sounds totally adorable?"

I rolled my eyes. "Gerard Iero sounds much better."

"I bet you have that scribbled all over your school notebooks, don't you?"

I felt my face get warm again. "No, asshole..."

"So you don't write my name on everything like a love-struck middle-schoolar?"

"I do," I confessed, raising my chin a bit. "I'm just not stupid enough to tack my last name on the end. People at school would ask questions, you know."

He laughed, a really cute, really sweet laugh, his arm going around my waist again. "Okay, okay. What about Frank Iero-Way?"

"Why not Gerard Way-Iero?"

"Iero-Way sounds better. Alphabetical order and all."

"Why do I have to be the one to change my name?"

"Well... I guess you don't..." He tilted his head a bit, considering. "I dunno. Iero-Way just sounds fucking adorable."

I grinned and leaned against him, but suddenly realized that we'd just spent the past few minutes more or less discussing marriage and kids and therefore a completely committed relationship and sex and all the weird things that I definitely didn't want to think about right now.

"Thinking about the future is so weird," I sighed, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Isn't it, though?" He tilted his head for a few seconds again, resting it on top of mine. "One day we're gonna' grow up and have to pay our own taxes and buy our own food and choose our own source of transportation and get actual jobs..."

"Speaking of jobs," I interrupted. "What ever happened with that place you interviewed at? For the comic, or whatever?"

Gerard shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "They found another artist with, like, way more professional experience than me. It's kind of hard to go into that business not knowing anyone or without professional experience, you know?"

"Yeah, I could see that." I frowned, feeling bad for bringing it up. "Sorry you didn't get the job. It really sounded like it could have worked out."

"Well, I'm kind of glad I didn't get it. They wanted me to come into the office and draw there, but it's a lot easier to do that stuff at home, and the hours they wanted me to come in are all right after you get out of school, so it would've left, like, no time for us, and that's not something I'm willing to sacrifice..."

I rolled my eyes as we approached his house, his arm falling from around my waist. "Dude. If you find a good job that pays actual money, go for it. Don't worry about me. I need to get a job, too, anyway."

Gerard shrugged, slightly. "Whatever. You know, it'd be cool to have a job in the same place. That way... Just, you know. We'd still be close."

I grinned at him. "That'd be fucking awesome! Like... I dunno, I can't draw, but tattoos are art, right? Working in a tattoo shop would be cool. You like art, I like tattoos. That could work."

Gerard shuddered a bit. "Needles scare the hell out of me, though."

I rolled my eyes as we walked up to his front door, and he fumbled in his pocket for his key.

"Really?" I asked. "Needles? So you don't like shots and stuff? That's lame."

He shuddered again. "I faint once every flu season, let's just leave it at that."

I arched my eyebrows at him. "Remind me to go with you, next time? I'll hold your hand if you want me to."

He smiled a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I couldn't imagine being scared of needles, though. I'm too sick too often to not be used to them, and I'm way too psyched about getting tattoos to be scared of them."

"Tattoos?" he chuckled, unlocking the door, letting me inside before him.

"Yeah!" I took the bag of candy from him and turned to sit it on the table- as soon as I turned around, though, he was there, freezing me in my tracks.

I blinked at how close he was.

"What type of tattoos?" he asked, tilting his head, really close.

"Uh- well. I don't know yet. I've had a few ideas, I guess... Like, something on my hands, like 'Halloween' across my fingers because of my birthday, maybe."

Before I really knew what was happening, my hands were in Gerard's, and he was raising one of them to his lips, tracing his mouth over my knuckles. "You have nice hands," he said, smiling slightly. "It's a shame they got all scraped up, I hope they get better soon. Hand tattoos would be... Well, they'd be really fucking attractive, actually. Anything else?"

"Well." I stared at him for a second, watching his lips as they continued to touch the skin on the back of my hand. "I've always kind of wanted 'keep the faith,' on my back."

"Why?" He moved his mouth away, but kept my hand in his. "You said it yourself, you're not religious."

"Exactly, though. As a big 'screw you' to religion. I've always seen it as me saying, 'I can have faith in what I want, it doesn't have to be your God.' And because of the Bon Jovi song, of course."

He smiled. "That seems very you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I looked at him for a few seconds and tried not to jump when both of his hands were suddenly on my cheeks, his forehead pressed against mine.

He was way too close to me, and fuck, his head was tilting to one side.

I put my hands on his shoulders. "No."

He leaned back, slightly, blinking a few times. "Why not?"

My hands found his and I slowly peeled his fingers away from my face. "Sometime tonight, I promise, okay? Just. It's a fucking kiss, Gerard, that's something big. Give me a while. Okay?"

"Okay." He pulled his hands away from mine, going to my waist instead. "Are you sure, not now?"

"I'm sure."

He sighed a bit. "Okay... Okay."

I sighed, too. "Don't look upset. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm just... Eager, I guess."

"I know," I chuckled. "I can tell."

He moved away from me, in one fluid motion, and did a weird little half-wave, and I turned to see Mikey, mimicking the weird wave back at us.

"Hi," Mikey said, blinking a few times.

"Hi," Gerard echoed.

"Hey, kid."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid."

"We brought you candy."

His face lit up. "Candy?"

"Yep." I had to restrain myself from saying "Totally a kid."

Gerard bumped my shoulder lightly with his, a very discreet form of saying, "How the hell do we get him out of here?"

I just kind of shrugged back, saying, "I'm tired."

Gerard decided that was a good enough excuse, I guess, and he took my hand almost instantly, starting to pull me out of the room. "Me too."

Mikey rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses on his eyes. "I'm not an idiot, you could just ask me to leave, you guys."

Gerard ruffled Mikey's hair as we walked by. "It's fun to pretend like you still think kissing is sharing food, though."

I tried not to laugh too loud. "You used to think kissing was sharing food?"

Mikey was like five different shades of red. "I hate you both."

"You too, kid!"

Gerard just laughed at both of us, tugging me along with him.

"Are we actually going to bed?" I asked as soon as Mikey was out our earshot.

"Of course not."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

He raised an eyebrow at me, closing his bedroom door behind me. "You're not actually tied, are you?"

"Not at all."

He grinned. "Okay. That's good. I just wanna sit up and talk for a while."

I grinned, too. "Yeah. I guess. Don't forget I have school tomorrow, though."

He sighed, flopping down backwards onto his bed. "Don't remind me. What the hell am I supposed to do while your gone?"

"School work?" I suggested, sitting next to him on the bed. "Sleep? What do you normally do when I'm gone?"

"School work and sleep," he sighed. "It's so boring, though. I can't wait until summer, when you can stay home all day."

I nodded, laying back next to him, twisting onto my side and draping one arm across his chest. "Summer's going to be nice. Besides the whole burning in the heat, sunburn that never goes away thing."

He laughed, twisting his neck slightly to look at me. "Summer is going to be fucking awesome. We won't have to go anywhere-"

"Except for jobs."

"Yeah, except for that."

I nodded. "Yeah. And. Well. What about after summer? What then?"

His fingers brushed the side of my face, pushing my hair back. "Let's not worry about that, okay?"

"Okay."

He leaned over and touched his lips to my nose. "Stop worrying."

"I'm not worrying."

"Yes you are."

I sat up, away from him, and resisted the urge to rub my face. "I'm not worrying, I'm just trying to forget the fact that you're leaving next year."

He sat up, too. "I'm not leaving-"

"You're going to college," I said roughly. "You might as well be moving across the country."

"I'm not," he said, his tone matching mine. "I'm staying in state, I already told you. Right here. I won't be more than a few hours away at any given moment."

"A few hours away is too far for me," I told him. "I don't like not being near you."

"I know what you mean," he agreed, nodding. "It's..." His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink and I felt my heart skip at least five beats. "It's weird not being close to you."

I nodded, too.

"You look tired," he said, quietly.

I shrugged. "Just sitting down made me realize that I kind of am."

Gerard stood up and took my hands, pulling me up, too. "Come on, go change clothes so we can go to bed. You have school tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't remind me."

\---

When I came out of the bathroom, Gerard was sitting on the end of the bed in an old shirt and faded Batman pajama pants, smoking.

My eyes found the cigarette almost immediately. "Can I-"

"No."

I stared in surprise. He'd never denied me a cigarette before. "What? Wh- why?"

"I said no," he said, a little more roughly, running his hand through his hair.

I blinked a few times and he glared at me, and then something in his mind most have clicked into place, because his lips parted in shock at his own action.

"I- Oh." His face fell a bit and he looked between the cigarette and I. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to be rude, I just-"

"It's okay," I said, sitting next to him, even though it was not okay at all. Gerard rarely got mad, and snapping at me like that was a little frightening. "I understand."

"No," he said, running his hand through his hair. "You don't. I'm sorry. I just- After all the future-talk and job-talk and- well, I need a cigarette, you know?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I know."

He brought the cigarette to his lips again. "I don't want to grow up," he said, "but I don't want to stay this age."

"Same here. And I don't want to be a little kid again, either..."

"Sometimes, I just..." He took a long drag from the cigarette, closing his eyes, rubbing his hand down his face. "I just don't like any of it, you know? Life. The only things good in it are music and cigarettes and alcohol and you."

"Alcohol?" I asked, blinking in surprise.

He didn't meet my eyes. "I haven't had a drink since I met you, okay?"

"You used to drink?"

"Well-"

"And you didn't tell me?"

He glanced at me. "Are you mad?"

"No. Just concerned... There's too much about you I don't know Gerard, and that's kind of scary sometimes... But, uh, you've stopped?"

"Yeah. I'd kind of waned myself off of it, and then when I met you, I guess I just kind of forgot about it..."

I stared at him. "Well."

He laughed a bit, looking across the room, away from me. "I'm a terrible influence. I shouldn't have told you that."

"You're not, and I'm glad you did. I'd prefer knowing than not knowing."

He stood up and crossed the room, putting the cigarette out, and came to sit next to me. "I had my first beer when I was fifteen."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He sat down next to me on the bed again. "First cigarette when I was fourteen... That sounds really terrible, doesn't it?"

"No. Just kind of sad."

Gerard sighed, tilting his head to rest it on my shoulder.

I shivered a bit, his touch doing something weird to my body, giving me a strange chill that I didn't understand.

"Are you cold?" he asked quietly, looking up at me.

"No."

He turned his head, pressing his lips against my neck. "Then why did you shiver?"

"I- I dunno... Just thinking, I guess."

His lips moved up on my neck and I shivered again, leaning into him as his mouth came to a rest on my jaw.

"Are you sure?" he said, near my ear.

I nodded vaguely, and he kissed right next to my ear, and I could hear his breathing, and I'm pretty sure that he could head mine, too, and his lips moved over my skin like butterfly wings.

"You're so warm," he said, sighing. "How are you always so warm?"

"I don't know, uhm-"

His lips were on my jaw again, soft, and I jerked away.

He looked at me for a long second. "Did I do something wrong?"

I took in a sharp breath and let out a shaky one. "No."

He just looked at me.

"You," I said, not knowing what else to say, looking everywhere but his eyes. "You're really warm, too." I looked around, not letting my eyes rest in one spot for too long, and never letting them catch his gaze.

"Yeah?"

"Y- yeah. And, uh, well."

He leaned over and kissed my jaw again, but I stopped him, turning to face him and placing my hands on his shoulders.

He blinked at me. "What?"

I stared at him for a second, making up my mind about something as he leaned forward, lips touching the tip of my nose.

"You should kiss me," I said suddenly, as he was leaning away.

He froze, a few inches from my face.

"What?"

"You," I said. "You should kiss me now."

He blinked a few times. "Are you sure?"

"Y- yes."

"Why now?"

I curled my fingers against his shoulders. "Because I'm done with Hell, Gerard, I want Heaven and you're the closest I'll ever get."

And so he kissed me.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen - Gerard's POV  
Author's note: So. How long has it been? A while, right? I'm really sorry for that, there's just been a lot going on. School ended, I'm dating someone (holy shit, right? How did I ever get this lucky? She's the first thing in a long time to make me happy,) my best friend went to California (and just came back!) and I've been given permission to dye my hair blue soon... So much has happened! Anyway. I won't bore you with the details, but basically, I've been busy.

So, hope you enjoy! (Sorry if the spacing is a little funny, and sorry if the editing is terrible. I'm uploading this at four in the morning haha.)

-Eve

\---

It was probably the worst "official" first kiss ever, if I'm being honest.

I guess it was because we were both out of practice, and he was so nervous that he was shaking.

He'd asked me to kiss him, hadn't he? I hadn't been hearing things?

Those butterfly lips of his seemed so timid...

His fingers curled a little too tight against my skin and he forgot to tilt his head, but I did too, so I guess I couldn't complain, even though our noses bumped together awkwardly. I think at one point I forgot how to breathe because I felt like I was choking, and when he pulled his head back the first thing he did was take his hands off of my shoulders to wipe those butterfly lips of his with his sleeve.

I just felt terrified of rejection the whole entire time.

What if he left again, like last time?

Frank seemed to realize what he was doing, wiping his lips with his sleeve, though, and slowly moved his arm away from his mouth, blinking at his jacket sleeve and then at me.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," I told him, even though it really wasn't.

Who the hell wipes their mouth after a kiss? Wiping a butterfly clean won't wipe away the sins, no matter how beautiful it's wings are.

He looked at me for a few seconds, and then shifted his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said again.

All I could manage this time was, "Okay," because there was a sinking weight in my chest that was pulling my heart down with it. "Whatever."

"Uhm," he said. He reached his hand to his mouth and pressed the tips of his fingers against his bottom lip.

I sighed and let myself fall backwards onto my bed, closing my eyes, trying to ignore how uncomfortable I felt.

My skin was crawling; I felt fucking disgusting. I felt repulsive. I just wanted to fold in on myself until Frank couldn't see me, I wanted to hide under my blankets and never come out again.

I didn't really know what was supposed to happen now, for the first time in a long time I was absolutely clueless. I hated not knowing what was happening. I was so scared of not knowing what would happen next.

Was he going to leave again?

I wouldn't blame him, I realized, feeling my fingers dig into the sheets as I realized that it was very possibly that he would leave.

"You can go," I said- choked out, rather. I squeezed my eyes as closed as they would go, so tight it hurt the tops of my cheeks and made my nose scrunch up in an odd way. "If you want to. I- I'd understand, if you wanted to, or something."

But instead of leaving, I suddenly felt a weight draped across my stomach, so I blinked my eyes open, felt the muscles in my face relax from worried and scared to surprised.

He'd moved so he was more or less on top of me, head on my chest.

"What are you doing?" I said, confused. Was he not leaving?

"Getting comfortable," he told me.

I paused, struggling for air as I tried to comprehend what was happening.

He really wasn't going to leave? Were things okay now?

Did he actually... Did he actually want to be here now?

I shifted a bit, uncomfortable with unsureness."Can you-"

"Wh-?" He paused, realizing he had interrupted me.

"Move, just for-"

"Oh, uhm-

"Just for a second?" I cleared my throat, squirming a bit.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, sorry, I'm-"

"Sorry, it's just-"

"Sure."

He scooted off of me and I moved up on the bed, letting my head hit the pillow. "Okay," I said.

"Okay. Uhm, can I-?"

"Yeah, I don't-"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

"Okay, Thanks."

He moved up next to me, and then we rearranged ourselves a bit.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly, resting his head on my chest. "I'm not too heavy-?"

"It's fine."

"Are you sure, I can-"

"You're not heavy at all, really," I insisted. "It's okay."

I wrapped my arms around him on instinct.

"I don't believe you."

I didn't say anything, because he was right. I wasn't exactly used to people laying on top of me, and he was crushing my lungs. I could live with it, though- being this close was nice.

I curled my fingers against his skin. "Did it work that time? The test or whatever? I feel like we failed."

"We haven't passed, not yet... I think- Well. Give me until tomorrow morning to decide. I mean, at least-"

"It's okay," I told him. "If you need some more time, I understand." (Even though I really didn't.)

He nodded, slightly. "Yeah, okay. Thanks... Just give me a while to think."

I placed one hand between his shoulder "That sounds fine to me." Actually, it didn't- I wanted to pull him up until his lips met mine and I wanted to kiss him until I drowned, but I doubted that would happen anytime soon.

"You sure?"

"I'm positive, Frankie," I lied.

He sighed a bit. "Can I sleep here tonight? I mean- on- on the bed? With you?"

"Of course. You sleeping on the floor is getting pointless, anyway," I said, chuckling slightly. I don't think there had been a single night, recently, that I hadn't gone down there to join him.

He shifted around and crawled up next to me, letting his head rest on the pillow next to mine. "Right here?" he whispered. I looked at him, tempted to press our lips together, but I settled for touching foreheads. "Like this?" he asked, and suddenly, somehow we were all tangled up, limbs holding limbs and skin brushing skin. "Is this okay?"

"Right here, like this." I tried not to hold him too tight. "This is fine."

"Okay," he said, closing his eyes.

I closed my eyes, too. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Gerard," he said, quietly.

I found his skin with my lips, brushing either his cheek or his forehead or just somewhere random on his face. "Goodnight, Frank."

And I felt something touch my lips, soft, barely there, and I didn't dare to open my eyes. I hoped desperately that it wasn't just my imagination that a butterfly had rested itself on my lips for just a few moments before fluttering away in fear.

\---

I forced myself to sleep that night, all tangled up with Frank. I woke up a few times, jerking in surprise at some invisible monster in my dreams, but I was more or less okay. I liked night like this, when I slept easily. I don't think it was Frank's presence that was soothing my nightmares, but it might've been the knowledge that he wasn't going to leave again that was comforting me.

We left the lights on, but I'm not sure if it was because we were too lazy to stand up and turn them off, or if we were too scared of what could happen if we did.

I was mostly alright, throughout the night. The only one time I really panicked was when I thought that Frank wasn't there, when I thought he had left.

The bed was so fucking cold without him, I hated it. I wanted to scream for him but my throat already felt raw, like I had already been screaming, so I just looked frantically around the room, staring at my open bedroom door, feeling my heart beat faster in a natural reaction to the fear of rejection.

I immediately began to wonder what I had done wrong.

"Frank," I said to the empty air.

My voice sounded sadder than I though it would, it cracked half way through his name.

"Hey," he said from the door.

I looked at him in surprise, jumping slightly. "Wh-"

He leaned against the door frame, cigarette clutched between his fingers. "You okay, sweetheart?"

I glared at him. "Fuck. You," I choked out, feeling the fear escape my lungs with a both relieved and angry breath of air. I curled my hands into the sheets, trying to slow my breathing back to a normal pace. "Where did you go?" I asked desperately.

"Bathroom," he said simply. "For a cigarette." He flicked the ashes on the floor and made a small sound to let me know that he'd clean them up later. "I didn't want to wake you up so I went in there so I could open the window. Didn't want the smoke to freak anyone out."

"Oh."

I focused myself on his silhouette, the way his clothes wrinkled in some spots and clung to him in others, the way how his hair was all tousled and messy and sticking up in awkward places.

I watched him for a few minutes, watched as he smoked the cigarette and let out a slow breath of sighed smoke that made me want to kiss him; he was a burning butterfly and I wanted to put out the fire.

"I heard you scream," he explained, looking down at his sock-clad feet. "That's why I came back."

"I screamed?"

"Yeah." He closed his mouth tightly for a few moments, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You sounded... You sounded really fucking terrified, actually."

"Oh. I- I'm sorry."

Frank crossed the room, sitting next to me, our legs pressed together. "Nightmare?" he asked, taking a long drag from the cigarette.

"Kind of."

"Do you remember it?"

I thought about it for seventeen seconds exactly. "No."

"And you don't remember screaming?"

I answered faster this time. "No. Did I say something, or...?"

He shrugged his shoulders, slightly, looking away from me. "Just my name, but..."

"Oh." I stared at the back of his head as he continued to look away from me.

I realized, then, that I did that a lot.

The first time I met him, I'd been staring at the back of his head before he'd even seen me.

That first day he sat in my lap, when we made a plan for our failed Christmas date. In the middle of the night, when he rolls over in his sleep. Every time he's ever held my hand and pulled me along with him somewhere. The few times I'd been there when he cried, he had a tendency to fold over on himself, leaving me to rub his back and touch his hair. Every time he'd ever sat in my lap, every time he'd turned his head away in anger or annoyance, I'd been left staring at the back of his head.

And now.

I could add guilt to the list of reasons why I'd seen the back of his head.

"I don't think it was about you leaving, or- or something like that," I told him. "I must've just been scared, and- and I don't know, when I'm scared I guess I would go to you first, and you weren't in bed anyway, so..."

He didn't say anything, but he did turn to look at me for a few moments. He met my eyes but I looked away, not being able to take his gaze. He stood, suddenly, and crossed the room, putting the cigarette out in the ash tray on my desk. "You were just scared? That's it?"

He sounded annoyed, and that hurt.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think so."

He came back over to the bed and sat down, flopping onto his side roughly.

I moved myself up on the bed and laid down to face him, concerned.

He was watching me with this hurt look on his face and I just wanted to hug him.

His fingers touched the side of my face. "Don't leave me like that," I told him quietly as he pushed hair away from my face roughly, tangling his fingers in it at the back of my head. "And I won't get scared."

"I just left for a cigarette, Gerard," he sighed angrily.

"The keyword there is 'left,'" I pointed out.

"Gerard..." His fingers tightened into my hair and he forced my head forward a bit, touching his lips to my forehead. "I'm not going to leave you. Not ever again. It makes me feel like an asshole when you think that I would leave you."

I squirmed a bit, and he untangled his fingers from my hair, but left his hand there. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I promise, Gerard, I'll never leave you ever again."

"Okay," I said, slowly. "If you promise."

There was a short pause during which he took slow, deep breaths and I took a few short, shaky ones.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he said, smelling like smoke and the chocolate we had bought earlier.

"Doesn't what bother me?"

"The fact that I never touch you," he said, rolling onto his back, away from me. "Not as much as you touch me, at least. The fact that I don't kiss you. The fact that I... Well, doesn't it bother you how careful I am? Haven't you ever wondered why I'm so scared of kissing you, of touching you, of being with you?"

I stared at him for a few moments. Last time we had this conversation, he'd still been scared of the gender issue- it worried me, that he might not still be over it. We'd been together for quite some time now, the fact that he might still be confused over whether or not he even likes me or not made me feel like complete shit. "No," I said, finally. "All that matters to me is the fact that you like me for me."

"But-"

"Why are we even talking about this?" I sighed, annoyed. "You have school and it's like three in the morning, Frank." I brushed his hair out of his face. "Go to sleep..."

I had almost said "Go to sleep, beautiful," but after a moment's consideration, I didn't think that it would help the situation.

He sighed, too. "Fine. Whatever. Just... I don't get why- why you don't complain, or- or get impatient, or- well, not saying that I want you to, but- you're just weird, is all."

I pressed my lips near his- not quite a kiss, but as close as I thought he would let me get away with. "Because I know you don't want me to. Whatever it is- whatever the reason is, that you're so careful, I'm cool with it. Take your time, Frankie, I'll be here when you want to talk."

His hand found mine, his fingers squishing mine. "Well, can we talk about it now?"

I considered for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

He shrugged. "Now is better than never."

"It's also the middle of the night and you have school," I reminded him again.

He just sat up. "Screw school, this is more important."

I sighed, but sat up, too, rubbing my forehead. "Okay, then. But you're still going tomorrow, even if you don't get a lot of sleep. You've missed too much school because of me."

"That's fine with me, if you promise to bring me lunch."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want me to bring you?"

He didn't hesitate in answering, "Veggie burger."

"Okay, veggie burger it is. Now, let's talk. What do you want to start with?"

He paused for a moment. "I think I'm gonna need another cigarette for this."

\---

Frank decided to go ahead and change into his clothes for school, since this conversation would evidently take quite some time to talk through, but I just kept my pajamas on, figuring it wasn't worth it since I'd just fall asleep the minute he left for school.

We sat on the bathroom floor and smoked for a while, sharing a cigarette- Frank didn't like smoking elsewhere in the house at night because he was convinced it would set off the smoke alarms and terrify Mikey, though I tried to assure him that it happened often enough that Mikey would just wander into the living room long enough to make sure he wasn't in danger and then go back to bed.

Frank leaned back, laying on the cool tile floor, closing his eyes as the muscles in his back stretched, his head resting in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair, leaning back against the wall and breathing in the smell of smoke that surrounded us. Smoke was so familiar, it was like a second skin to me. I've always been around cigarette smoke, ever since I was a child, and the scent of it clung to all of the people I cared most about, except for maybe Mikey. (I couldn't help but hope that he never picked up smoking, it was kind of a terrible habit.) The smell of a good cigarette was more comforting to me than any other scent in the world.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked Frank, watching as he took a long drag from the cigarette, eyes still closed.

"I dunno," he said, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. "I think I had probably either just turned fifteen or was about to when I had my first cigarette."

"You don't remember your first?"

"No. Do you?"

He passed me the cigarette. I didn't dare raise it to my lips- I was thinking too steadily about Frank right now and would end up adding the flavor of his kiss to that of the cigarette, and I didn't want to torture myself like that.

"Of course I do. I remember everything, Frank."

I took one long, slow taste of the cigarette, though- I could allow myself to over-indulge at least once, right? I was allowed addiction-driven and sexual gratification at the same time, right? That wasn't too selfish of me?

Did it really matter, anyway? I'm so selfish in other aspects of my life, how were addictive things any different?

I finished off the cigarette. I almost felt bad, just for a minute, as Frank watched me toss the small crumpled remains of it into the toilet. I hadn't even offered it to him once since he handed it to me.

I just slid another one out of the pack, though, without being asked. "We're going to kill ourselves with these things," I said.

"Do I look like I care?" he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. "No. C'est la vie, c'est la mort. c'est l'amour, I suppose."

"That's French, right?"

"Yeah. It basically means, 'Such is life, such is death, such is love,' or, 'That's life, that's death, that's love.'"

"Do you actually speak any French or do you just happen to know that?" he asked curiously.

I laughed. "Both, I guess. I got really bored for about a month last summer and taught myself a lot of phrases in different languages."

"Yeah? What else do you know?"

"Uhm- well, there's, 'Alle beetjes helpen, zei de mug, en ze piste in de zee.'"

"What does that mean?

"It's Dutch," I chuckled. "It means, 'Every little bit helps, the mosquito said, pissing into the sea.'"

Frank laughed, tilting his head back as much as he could with it in my lap, his back arching slightly, and I smiled at the way his laughter echoed through the bathroom. "What the fuck, man?" he cried. "What the fuck?"

I laughed, too. "I wish I knew."

Frank kept laughing for a few seconds and then stopped abruptly, looking up at me with a cute little smile on his lips.

"You're really pretty, Gerard," he said suddenly. "Not in a feminine way- well, kind of in a feminine way, but not really, I don't think."

I rolled my eyes and grinned. "Great, my best friend thinks I look like a girl. Thank, Frankie."

"I didn't mean it like that!" he said defensively.

I ran my fingers through his hair. "I know, sweetheart."

He squirmed a bit. "Can we- one more cigarette, I mean? Just one more for the night?"

"Sure, of course."

I didn't actually want another cigarette, but hell, who turns down an offer to share a cigarette with their completely adorable best friend, ya know? You'd have to be an idiot to turn down that smile.

Frank sat up just for a moment, long enough for me to place the cigarette between his lips and then light it for him. He stayed sitting up as he took the first long inhalation of smoke, but leaned back with his head in my lap again after a few minutes. I watched him smoke and tried a little too hard to ignore the way his lips curved upwards into a slight smile when he caught me staring.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said.

I looked away, playing with his hair. "Hey, beautiful."

He doesn't blush as often as he used to, and I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Had he just gotten used to the things I say and do, or was he starting to enjoy them?

I didn't know which I wanted to be true, but I was leaning towards the second option.

"Fuck," he said quietly, suddenly, sitting up and clutching the cigarette a little too tight between his fingers, coughing.

"Hey," I patted his back a bit and he handed me the cigarette, coughing in what sounded like a sadly painful way, leaning over with his face pressed into his elbow. I could feel my face tense up in worry and forced it to relax again. "You okay, Frankie?"

He shook his head and sputtered, coughing some more, curling over slightly. "Fuck- no. Fuck no. I-" he broke off into coughs again, his face pained.

I sighed and put the cigarette out by leaning over and dropping it in the toilet, like I did the first one. "Ya know," I said quietly, after he stopped coughing. I rubbed his back, between his shoulders. "Maybe you should take a break from those things, kiddo."

"I'm fine, it-" he cleared his throat. "It wasn't the cigarette, I just- I breathed wrong, or something, when I was leaning back. Couldn't breathe."

I raised an eyebrow, brushing hair away from his face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He glared at the toilet and the soaked cigarette. "That was a waste, you could've finished that."

"I finished the last one," I said, shrugging slightly. "And I wasn't about to let you finish that one while you were coughing up your own internal organs."

Frank rolled his eyes, sighing slightly. "I'll be fine."

Before I could stop myself, I was pressing my lips against his cheek. "Okay. That's good to hear."

He kissed my cheek, too.

I stood up and pulled him with me, sighing a bit.

"Ready to talk?"

He nodded. "Ready to talk."

I nodded, too, and laced our fingers, pulling him towards the living room.

"Hey, Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For taking away the cigarette."

"No problem."

He paused for a long moment, and then; "Have you ever thought about quitting?"

I blinked a few times, raising an eyebrow as we sat on the couch. "It's crossed my mind once or twice... Why, have you?"

"A few times... I mean, more recently I guess. I was just thinking about like the future, and growing up, and how bad it is for your health." He blinked a few times, and looked down at his hands, resting them in his lap and picking a his fingers. "I don't want to end up with some type of cancer, Gerard," he said softly. "I don't want to cough like that for the rest of my life. I don't want it to ruin my voice and make everything shit."

"That's understandable," I said, nodding. "Are you going to try it, quitting?"

"Maybe. I mean, once I get into college."

I nodded. "Okay. That sounds like it could work."

He nodded, too.

"So, uhm... Where should I start talking?" Frank said.

"Wherever you want to," I said, shrugging.

"Okay." He leaned back into the couch. "Okay. Uh. I guess- I'll just start at the beginning, I guess."

The beginning of what, I wasn't sure. "Okay..."

"Okay. Yeah. So. I had a girlfriend last summer, right?" He looked at me.

"Okay."

He looked away, suddenly seeming too nervous to be healthy. "So part of my whole issue is that I kissed this girl three days after we started dating."

I blinked a few times.

Just three days? Hell, I'd wanted to kiss him from the second he first stuttered out his name to me in the diner. That hardly seemed fair.

"It was... It was a fucking terrible relationship, to be honest, and it was the first one I'd ever been in, so it sucked and she totally- well, she was just totally a horrible person, I guess."

He looked at me for a second, so I just said, "Oh."

He looked away so fast that it made me want to hug him.

"And I guess- I just see kissing as a big commitment, ya know? It's like saying, I trust you, and I care about you, and I'm not going to hurt you. And..." He looked so uncomfortable. "I gave her that trust way too soon. I thought- I dunno. She was the first person to ever look at me like I wasn't a waste of space, I guess. She made me feel wanted. And I assumed that she would want me forever, because that's what it means when you love someone, right? That you want them? That's love?"

I nodded, slowly, hating myself for ever being jealous.

"To be honest," he said quietly. He looked so vulnerable, it was a strange look on him. "She- she kind of wrecked me."

I reached over and took his hand.

"Every idea I'd ever had of what being in a relationship would be like, she killed. Love is supposed to be honest, ya' know?" His hand squeezed mine as he stared at our fingers. "And you're not supposed to do things behind one another's backs, and you're supposed to be there, for everything, you're supposed to help each other. Like, no matter how tough shit gets, no matter how bad one of you hurts? You stick together. You don't stop loving someone because they're angry and they're taking it out on you. You don't stop loving someone because they're in a 'I fucking hate everything mood,' and you're just horny and not in the mood for deep conversation. You don't stop loving someone because one of you feels like shit and the other doesn't; you stop whatever the fuck you're doing and you help each other and love each other. You help each other and love each other and you work everything out until you're both okay again... And she didn't give me that. Not at all. Her needs came first, and most of the time, her needs were just sitting in her room and making out with my hand up her shirt, or some stupid shit. She didn't give a fuck about me but she made me really, truly fucking believe that she did."

I didn't quite know what to say, so I just settled for switching the hand that was holding his and putting my arm around his shoulders.

"And I guess... I just don't see much in myself, for someone to like, ya know?" He rested his head on my shoulder. "There's not much of me that... That's appealing, I guess. I'm not really a lovable person, and she just kind of proved that. She proved that I'm only good for making other people happy."

"That's not true," I told him, resting my head on top of his. "You know it's not."

"But I do," he insisted, squirming a bit. I sighed and leaned away, and he kind of curled in on himself, which broke my heart, his fingers slipping away from mine. He pulled his feet up onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs, knees pressed against his chest. "I'm not really anything special- there's nothing here for you Gerard. There was absolutely fucking nothing for her except for a pair of lips, she let me know that, and there's nothing for you, either, because I've just gotten worse since then."

"That's not true," I told him, shifting until I was completely facing him. "Frank, you're- Hell, I don't even know where to start. You are worth something, you're worth a whole fucking lot, okay? You're-"

He looked over at me and I just swallowed down a painful breath of air.

"I'm what, Gerard?" he said, almost sarcastically.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," I told him, honestly, and his expression softened a bit. "And I hate that you don't seem to understand that. If- If you weren't here, Frank, I-"

"Don't say that, Gerard, I-"

"I think I'd have killed myself by now," I said, all in a rush. I looked away, down at my hands, at the wall, the turned-off TV and the empty ceiling and down the hall and everywhere but him. "I don't think I would still be here if it weren't for you. I need you, I want you. I like you a whole fucking lot. You make me happy and not much else does. I don't like life, I really fucking don't. A lot of days Mikey and my mom and you are the only reasons I stick around."

He sighed and leaned over, sitting on his knees and hugging me. "You... Hell, Gerard..."

I hugged him back, pressing my face into his shoulder. "Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

I shrugged and held him tighter, my voice quivering. "Because I want to die."

"I'm not mad." His voice got quiet, very quiet. "I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be," I told him, closing my eyes so tight I was seeing spots. I suddenly found that I couldn't let him go, I didn't want to. I was a selfish creature, and he was mine, and selfish creatures do not let what is there's get away.

I curled my hands into the fabric of his shirt, pressing my fingers as close to him as possible. "I take it back, Frank- don't go to school today. Don't leave."

"Okay," he said, even though it hadn't been so much a question as a demand, hugging me back just as tight. "I won't leave."

"Okay," I said, too. "Good."

He leaned away, looking at me for a long second, and I just studied his eyes.

"Kiss me," he said. "Please?"

I blinked at him for a few seconds. "Really? You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I really like you, Gerard."

I smiled a small smile, bringing my hands up to cup the sides of his face. I ran my thumb across his cheek, below his eye. "You're so gorgeous, Frank."

I pressed my lips to his, softly, and fought the urge to pull away and tell him other things, I fought the urge to say the words I wanted to mean but couldn't quite yet.

His fingers tangled into my hair and I sighed against his lips.

I remembered to tilt my head this time, and I remembered to breathe, too.

I breathed, I breathed in him and I breathed in all that he was, and I breathed in the smell of smoke that clung to his skin and lingered in his hair.

He tilted his head, his mouth away from mine.

"You taste like cigarettes," I said, letting out a soft breath of air.

"So do you," he said, and his lips brushed mine for just a second, his eyes closing for just a moment.

I sighed. "You do know what these means, right? I'm addicted to you now."

He laughed, honey hazel eyes warm. "You weren't already?"

"Your smile was my gateway drug," I told him. "But sweetheart, your nicotine is one I won't give up."

And I kissed him again, softer and shorter this time.

"Is it okay?" I asked. "That I keep kissing you?"

"Yeah. I like kissing you," he said.

"I like kissing you, too."

He laughed, just a bit. "I'm not even blushing."

"You're not," I said, and I couldn't help but smile. "That should scare me but it doesn't."

"Yeah, I guess it should."

He looked at me for a long minute.

"Kissing you isn't how kissing her was," he told me. "She just kissed me because she wanted to, I wasn't even into it."

"But you're into this?"

"I'm totally into this."

I grinned. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

\---

I woke up a few hours later to a pair of lips pressed against mine, and I tilted my head back to make the angle better, and he chuckled at me.

"That's a really nice way to be woken up," I breathed, not bothering to open my eyes.

"It's almost noon," he said softly. "You slept forever."

I shifted around and forced my eyes open, trying to figure out where we were.

The living room couch.

My head was in his lap, his fingers brushing my hair from my face.

"You're cute when you sleep," he said, cheeks flushing pink.

I laughed. "You're cute when you sleep, too."

He just rolled his eyes a bit.

"So I'm guessing you didn't and aren't going to school?" I asked as I sat up, stretching.

"You told me not to leave, so I didn't."

I nodded. "Thank you for that. You should have ignored me, though."

"No problem, and no way."

I slumped back on the couch, rubbing my eyes. "I needed that sleep. But what did you do all day?"

"Yeah," he said, ignoring my question. His index finger touched the skin just below my eye. "You always look so tired."

I shrugged. "It's no big deal-"

"It really is."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

Frank moved around a bit and I watched in silence as he clamored into my lap, fingers going to my shoulders, one leg on either side of my hips.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, putting my hands on his waist.

"Nothing, really," he half mumbled, sitting in my lap. He hugged me, resting his head on my shoulder, lips close to my neck. "I just need a hug... Oh, and we have dinner with my mom tonight, remember?"

I sighed, tightening my arms around him. "I just woke up, and you're already talking about dinner? Can't we just focus on getting lunch first?"

He shrugged, tilting his head to look up at me. "We agreed to meet her, Gerard. There's no way we can not go."

"I should probably shower, in that case."

His fingers went up to my face and he sat up, kissing me, both mine and his eyes closing.

"Is this," I said around his lips, opening my eyes, "going to be a normal thing, now?"

He leaned back a bit, tilting his head and studying my eyes. "I think so, yes."

I laughed. "Okay. That's good to know."

He grinned. "Like I said, kissing you isn't like kissing her was. You're..." His expression got serious, all at once. "You really make me feel something, Gerard."

"Something?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Something good," he decided. "Like... I don't know. You make me happy, I guess."

I smiled. "Happy is good."

"Happy is very good." He patted the top of my head.

I laughed. "Did you just pet me?"

"I might've."

"I'm not a dog, Frank."

"Really? I could so see you in a collar."

I didn't know if I should laugh or blush, so I think both kind of happened.

Frank's face was pink, too. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh but you totally did."

"I did not! And even if I did, it's totally true..."

I just laughed a bit more, and found myself kissing him again, my hands on his face this time, soft and short and sweet. "Just go get ready, Frankie," I chuckled softly. "Don't want to make your mom mad."

\---

His fingers tugged nervously at the bottom of his shirt. "I feel like everything has to be perfect, or else she's going to hate you and hate me even more than she already does."

I rolled my eyes. "She doesn't hate you, Frank. And even if she does hate me, I can deal with it."

He looked up at me sharply. "She does hate me," he insisted. "And if she hates you, I'm the one who's going to have to listen to her yell. If this doesn't go right she might not ever let me see you again."

"And in that case," I told him, taking his hands to make him stop fidgeting. "I'll sneak in through your bedroom window and hide in your closet."

He giggled, just slightly. "Okay, okay. That sounds like a plan." He glanced at the clock, and then back at me. "What are we supposed to do until then?"

I shrugged, biting my lip. I really wanted to kiss him again.

"You should show me your art," he suggested.

You should make out with me, I wanted to say, but I let the words linger on the tip of my tongue, letting "Okay, sure," slip over the truth.

\---

He'd gone through every drawing notebook, every canvas that was stowed away in the back of my closet, and every rough sketch stuck in the drawer of my desk or in-between book pages. I didn't let him see the notebooks that I kept as journals- no one had ever seen those, not that I know of.

We hadn't spoken a word since I handed him the first notebook, though, with the exception of Frank's occasional, "Can you pass me that?" and "Next, please."

I was laying on my back, and he was leaning back against the headboard of my bed, legs on top of mine. He placed a notebook on my stomach and I opened my eyes, looking down at the page he left open, the very first one.

It was a shitty sketch that I'd done of him a few months ago, of him sleeping. I'd done it in the early morning, just a bit before he woke up.

"You drew me?"

"I draw you a lot. This entire notebook is just you."

His eyebrows went up slightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

He looked back down at the notebook and turned a few pages, pausing on each one. "Gerard..."

"Yeah?"

He shook his head slightly, letting out a slow breath of air as he flipped through the notebook, stopping on each page but pausing at one in particular, blinking down at the page. "Is that a butterfly where my mouth should be?"

"That one's my favorite," I told him, shrugging. "I like you, I like butterflies. It seemed fitting."

"When did you draw this?"

"Some time during that week that we- well, after we failed the 'test,' or whatever." I looked down. "When you weren't talking to me."

He sighed lightly, closing the notebook and setting it to the side.

"I'm sorry for that. I didn't-"

"May I kiss you?"

"Gerard... Can't we talk about this first?"

"Can't I kiss you again?"

He rolled his eyes, but rotated himself on to his knees. "Fine. Okay."

I sat up, too. "You sound mad." I kissed him, just barely. "Don't be mad, please."

"I'm not mad, I just think we should talk about a few things."

"I'd rather kiss you again," I told him, quietly, honestly.

"Really?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Frank looked away. "You'd rather kiss than talk about something that almost destroyed our friendship?" His voice was soft.

I blinked a few times.

"I don't mean it like that..."

"Yeah, well it seems like you did."

"I didn't, I just like kissing you, talking can wait-"

"And so can kissing!" he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "We've been talking for months, Frank. Can't we just have some fun?"

He covered his face with his hands, sitting back sightly, sighing. "I think I'm gonna' cry," he said quietly.

I looked down. I just really did not want to talk about it- that was one of the worst weeks of my life, when he stopped coming over. I thought about how much better off I would be dead during that week more than I ever had in my entire life.

But hadn't he just confessed to me that his last relationship had gone the same way I was treating him right now? Just ignore the things that hurt? (Until they all build up and explode in your heart...?)

Fuck, I really do hate myself sometimes.

It wasn't that I wanted to ignore the problem- well, actually it was. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think about the most miserable week of my life. I didn't want to think about how sick I felt or about how many times I considered killing myself.

I just didn't want to fucking talk about how badly he had hurt me.

"Don't cry," I told him. "Please."

He shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face, and took a few deep breaths. "I won't," he said. "I'm not."

I wanted to kiss the hurt away, both his and mine, but hell, I didn't think that would help anything.

"I'm sorry," I said, forcing as much honesty into my voice as I could. "I'm fucking sorry, Frankie."

He looked up at me. "Now you sound like you're going to cry."

"I'm not going to cry," I assured him, looking at my hands.

I suddenly wanted to get drunk.

I hadn't wanted to get drunk in a long time.

"I just don't know how to make you believe my apology," I told him. "I- There's a lot I want to say, but- I just... I don't know how to say it all. Okay? I just... I don't want to avoid problems but I just don't want to talk about this, okay?"

He sighed. "Well why not?"

"Because," I said softly. "It hurts to think about it, okay?"

He just looked at me. "What hurts about it, though?"

I laughed, bitterly. "Everything. You left me that week, Frank. I though you were gone forever."

He frowned. "I'd never leave you, Gerard. Not for the world."

I nodded, looking at my hands. "Yeah. I get that now. But I... I don't want to be away from you, like, ever."

"That's understandable," Frank said. "I don't want to be away from you ever again, either."

I sent him a look. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

I sighed and scooted back down on the bed, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. "I'm tired."

I blinked a few times- I was pretty sure I'd just been staring at one spot, and that I hadn't looked to the side or anything, but hell, Frank was in front of me, and he was kissing me.

I wasn't exactly about to argue, I guess, even though I was pretty fucking confused.

His fingers pressed against my cheeks, and a felt a slight weight on my stomach as his lips pressed closer to mine.

"Are you sitting on me?" I mumbled sloppily, tilting my head away from his to breathe.

He nodded slightly, and then rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath. "I'm not really the best at this, sorry."

"It's okay," I said, putting my hands on his knees, slightly out of breath even though the kiss hadn't even taken that much effort. I think it was just the overwhelming sensation of him that was making me feel like that. "But why, exactly, are you sitting on me?"

He shrugged. "I just... You're right. Talking can wait. We can talk at dinner."

I looked at him for a long moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

He didn't sound sure, not at all, but fuck, I didn't care. I'm such a selfish bastard, but honestly, I wanted to kiss him, so I would kiss him.

It's a vicious cycle that one falls into, when you begin to want someone in a physical way.

"Kiss me, then," I said.

And so he did.

He kissed me soft, and I sighed, my fingers finding their way to his hair, curling slightly against the back of his head.

"You're good at this," he said.

"You are, too."

He rolled his eyes. "I so am not."

"You are," I insisted. "I wouldn't enjoy kissing you so much if you weren't good at it."

He laughed, slightly.

"Really," I said, touching my lips to his jaw. "It's true, sweetheart."

He looked away. "I don't want to go out tonight, Gerard. I just want the share a few more cigarettes and hang out."

"I know," I sighed, pushing hair away from his forehead. "I don't want to leave either. But we told your mom we would meet her, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"I feel bad about having to leave Mikey on his own again."

"He'll be fine," I reassured Frank. "He likes being home alone because he can blast his music. And read comics in the middle of the living room floor."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I smiled at him and he beamed back.

"Let's go impress the hell out of your mom, okay, babe?"

"Okay."

\---

Mrs. Iero was already at the diner by the time we got there.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit-"

I put a hand on his shoulder.

We stood just outside, looking in through the glass door.

"That's her," he said in a whisper, like she could hear him from all the way out here, or something. He waved his hand vaguely.

I blinked around what I could see of the restaurant from here.

"With the turquoise shirt?"

Frank nodded, taking a step away from the door. "I can't do this," he said, shaking his head. "Forget impressing here. I hate her, she hates me. She's going to hate you, Gerard, fuck, I'm-"

I looked from him to the woman, who I must admit looked like an older, female version of Frank from here, sipping coffee, studying the menu.

"Sweetheart," I breathed, dropping my hand from his shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

He wrung his hands nervously. "Don't call me that please."

"Sorry."

I rolled my eyes, just slightly. "Frank, it's going to be okay. Even if she does hate me, what will it matter?"

Frank shrugged, rolling his eyes back at me. "I dunno. But I'm going to be the one being yelled at, ya know."

I sighed a bit, shifting from foot to foot. "Look, if she has a problem with me, she needs to take it up with me, not you, okay?"

"But-"

"But nothing. Look, let's just go in there, be polite, eat a nice dinner. I'm assuming we're not telling her about our relationship status?"

Frank laughed, snorting slightly. "You're kidding, right? If she knew I'd be banned from the house and shunned for the rest of my life."

I rolled my eyes again. "Okay. Whatever. Let's just go have a good time, okay?"

"Okay," Frank said. "I can do that. Or at least I pretend to."

"We'll be fine," I told him again. "When we get home we can go straight to my room and get comfy and go to bed, okay? Eat some chocolate or something, listen to music. Whatever you want. Just at least pretend to have fun now and once we leave everything will be alright again."

He nodded, taking a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. I can do that.

We went into the diner and I followed Frank to the table his mom sat at. He slid into the seat across from her without hesitation and I eased myself next to him, trying not to study his mom's face with too much precision.

"Frank," Mrs. Iero said, blinking between Frank and I.

Frank blinked a few times, lips parted in slight confusion.

I laughed at him slightly and rolled my eyes. "Hi Mrs. Iero," I said, trying to drown out Frank's impoliteness. "I'm Gerard, Gerard Way."

I reluctantly shook her hand- I was being polite, right? That's what people do, shake hands?

She just nodded, and didn't bother to tell me her first name.

I guess it didn't matter, too much. I wasn't an adult yet so I guess I wasn't worthy of knowing her first name.

I disliked her instantly. She launched straight into conversation with Frank, blatantly ignoring my presence after she gave me one long, slightly disgusted look over. She had manicured hands, her red nails tapped the table in a steady rhythm as she listened to what her son had to say and clicked her tongue in disapproval or shook her head in disappointment.

I was struck by how much she and Frank looked alike- right down to the curve of their nose, they looked alike. She was sharply more feminine, however, all the shapes of her face smaller and rounder in some spots but sharper in others.

The similarities in midst of their contrast was astounding to me.

I listened to the conversation for a bit-

"Did you go to school today?"

"Of course."

"And you went to bed at an appropriate time, I assume?"

"Of course, mom."

"And there's been no smoking? I could've sworn I smelt smoke."

"Neither of us smoke, mom. We just passed some guy smoking on the way here, was all."

I almost rolled my eyes about how much of a liar he is.

Mrs. Iero continued to pound Frank with questions for a few more minutes, until the waitress approached us.

"Gerard, Frank! Nice to see you two."

"Hi Sandra," I laughed slightly. I think by far she was our favorite waitress here; Frank has known her a lot longer than I have but she was almost always here, so I knew her fairly well too. I nodded to our guest. "This is Mrs. Iero, Frank's mom."

Sandra offered a sweet smile to the woman. "You have a very polite son, Mrs. Iero, and the same goes for his friend." Sandra laughed a bit. She sent Frank and I a sly smile and I returned it, knowing that she was being overly polite for the sheer purpose of helping us out. "Frank and Gerard always tip well, they're so sweet... It's nice to meet you, I'm Sandra."

Mrs. Iero just nodded, returning the smile with the slight raising of the corners of her lips. "I don't see how any of that is true, but it's nice to meet you too, Sandra."

Sandra's lips parted in slight surprise and glanced between Frank and I, but I was just a stunned by Mrs. Iero's insult as she was. Frank didn't really seem to notice.

"So," Sandra said, clearing her throat. "Uhm, I'm guessing you boys are getting the usual, as far as drinks go?"

"I am. Frank?"

He nodded and I turned to Mrs. Iero. "What about you, ma'am?" I asked, as politely as I could.

She pressed her lips together, turning to Sandra. "Just a water please."

Sandra nodded. "Okay, so two waters and-" she pointed her pen at me, "the usual coffee. I'll be back in a minute with that for you guys!"

As soon as Sandra left, Mrs. Iero raised an eyebrow at me. "Coffee? At your age?"

I shrugged. "I think seventeen is plenty old enough for coffee."

Mrs. Iero didn't seem to agree.

The rest of dinner went on with her basically asking us tons of questions, most of which were directed at me.

"So Frank is spending the week with you... Why?"

"My mom is out of town," I said. "My aunt in Chicago was recently in a car crash and suffered slight brain damage, and with her girlfriend's job, there's not anyone to take care of her during the day, so my mom drove out. Frank didn't want my brother and I to be alone, so he offered to stay with us."

Mrs. Iero pressed her lips together tightly. "You said your aunt has a girlfriend?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Her eyebrows went up slightly. "Well then."

Frank frowned. "Mom, there's nothing wrong with same-sex relationships."

She just rolled her eyes. "Why do you always get so defensive when this topic comes up? If I didn't know any better I would think you're gay."

Frank was grinding his teeth, a small muscle in his jaw twitching.

I'd never seen that muscle twitch before.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Mrs. Iero glared at him. "Yeah, Frank, 'whatever.' That seems to be your answer to everything these days."

I shifted in my seat, a bit uncomfortable.

"When are you going to get your hair cut, Frank?" Mrs. Iero snapped suddenly.

"Never."

Frank's mom made a protesting sound. "I don't like your hair long."

"But Gerard does," he defended himself, leaning back into his seat.

"Is Gerard your parent? No. Which is why his opinion is irrelevant."

I stared at her.

"Gerard is my friend," Frank snapped, that muscle in his jaw twitching again. His fingers were curling into fists. "I care about his opinion more than I ever have about yours, mother."

She glared at him and I noticed the same muscle in her jaw twitch. "That's the single most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, Frank Anth-"

"You know," I interrupted, clearing my throat. "Maybe-"

Sandra walked up just then, smiling as she sat our drinks down.

Mrs. Iero stood abruptly. "I'm going to the restroom."

The second she was gone Frank let out a long string of profanities. "I fucking hate that fucking bitch I swear to god she's the biggest motherfucking piece of shit, Gerard, I-"

"Hey, hush."

He glared at me. "She fucking hates me."

"She does not. You're just both losing your patience?"

"Are you- are you taking her side?"

"No. Of course not. I hate her just as much as you. I'm just saying, there might be less arguing if you control yourself a little more."

He sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

I wrapped my hands around my mug of coffee and brought it to my lips, resting my elbows on the table. "I need a cigarette."

"Yeah. I do too."

"Coffee is so much better with a smoke."

"Really?"

"Yeah..." I looked at him from the corner of my eyes. "I still don't get how you don't like coffee."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I haven't had it in a really long time..."

I offered him my mug. "Here, try this."

His lips parted in surprise as he wrapped both hands around the mug, our fingers overlapping. "Really?"

"Sure. Just don't drink all of it."

He nodded, raising it towards his face and sniffing a bit. "This smells really strong."

"But it's good," I assured him.

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He took a small sip, considering for a moment. He blinked between the mug and I, and then smiled a small, cute smile, taking another sip.

I laughed, grinning. "You like it?"

"Yeah," he said shyly, giggling a bit. "It's not as bad as I remember."

Frank took a few more sips of my coffee, but then Mrs. Iero returned to the table, so he handed it back to me.

The woman narrowed her eyes a bit. "Sharing drinks is very unsanitary, Frank."

"It'll be fine," he said, shrugging a bit. "We've done it before and I didn't get sick."

That wasn't exactly the truth- we'd never shared drinks before, except for maybe once or twice when one of us was too lazy to get up and get our own drink. And anyway, sharing cigarettes and kissing was probably a lot worse than sharing a coffee.

We fell into awkward conversation, after a while, which mostly consisted of Mrs. Iero asking Frank and I questions.

"So how are you in school, Gerard?"

"Good," I said, shrugging slightly. "Pretty average."

Frank flicked me in the arm. "Don't lie," he scolded.

Mrs. Iero blinked at me. "You're lying? So are your grades worse?"

"Well, not exactl-"

"Gerard is a genius," Frank interrupted, stating it quite simply.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm not-"

"Have you seen your own art, man? Have you heard yourself the piano? Have you ever watched yourself do complicated math like it's two plus two or fly through a book in an hour? You seem pretty much like a genius to me."

"Frank, I-"

Frank looked at his mom and cut off my sentence. "Ask him something, mom. Anything. Any math problem."

She looked at me, a slight look of curiosity that I recognized from Frank appearing on her face. We sat there for a minutes while I just listed off the answers to their questions.

Mrs. Iero looked impressed, which surprised me.

"He's also really good with time," Frank said. "What time is it Gerard?"

"That's-"

"Please?"

I rolled my eyes. "When you asked that question it was nineteen seconds after five thirty seven."

Mrs. Iero glanced at her watch. "That almost accurate, that's astounding."

"It's not almost accurate," I said, slightly offended. "It is accurate. Your watch is off."

"Well how do you know that?"

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I just- I like numbers I guess? I count things in my head."

She nodded, slowly. "Really now?"

I nodded, too, slightly confused. "Yes."

"What else do you count?"

I shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "The number of people in a room when I enter. The number of corners in a room. The number of times someone-" someone being Frank, I wanted to say; "says my name every day... Uh, why does any of this matter though?"

Mrs. Iero looked at me, studied my face for a few seconds. "Do you have any other odd habits, Gerard?"

"You talk from the side of your mouth," Frank offered when I looked lost. "You check the buttons on your shirt a few times-"

"Seven," I corrected him. "I check them seven times. And the mouth thing is because there's a nerve in my jaw that's screwed up, you know that."

"Yeah. Well- You check buttons on your shirt seven times to make sure they're all buttoned. And what is it that you do with shoes?"

I felt my cheeks flush slightly. I hadn't realized he payed such close attention to my habits. "I check to make sure the laces are even."

Mrs. Iero was blinking at me. "What's your issue?" she said, rudely. "What type of disability do you have?"

I stared at her for a few seconds. "Are you- are you talking about OCD? That's not a disability."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes, that. What does that stand for?"

"Ob- obsessive compulsive disorder," I said, nervous. I sent Frank a look. I had never really explained anything about it to him. "But I don't have it. At least not bad. I know I don't. I don't think I have it."

Frank was staring at me, I knew. "Is that- is that why you always like to be on the left side of the bed at night? You never say anything, but..."

I looked down. My face felt hot, my fingers were curling into the fabric of my jeans. I was so embarrassed I just wanted to curl in on myself.

There wasn't anything wrong with me and they were making me feel like a freak.

"Is that why we always sit in the same spot when we come here and why you- is it why you always do the sugar in your coffee yourself, all carefully and whatnot?"

"Frank-"

"Gerard, I'm-"

I sent him a look and then stood up and crossed the diner to the bathroom.

I couldn't take it.

I didn't like them knowing so much about me, about the disorder the doctors are convinced I have.

I don't fucking have a problem, it's not a fucking issue. I'm not insane.

I locked myself in a bathroom stall and sat on the floor with my legs pulled up to my chest, my face pressed into my hands.

"I'm not crazy," I told myself. "I'm not a freak. I just-"

"You're just different," Frank's voice chimed in.

I let out a rough breath of air as he tapped on the stall door.

"But it's a good different," he said quietly. "It's a different I like."

"It's a terrible different," I said back, rolling my eyes and leaning against the wall. "I hate it."

"Don't say that-"

"It's true."

We were both quiet and I felt like crying.

"Can I come in?" he said after twenty-nine seconds exactly.

"N-"

"I'll crawl under the door, Gerard."

I rolled my eyes and leaned over, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

Frank closed and locked the door behind him and immediately dropped to his knees next to me, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his face against my neck. "You're so wonderful, Gerard. You're so amazing. Don't feel bad, please."

I titled my head to press my cheek against his. "I'm not," I told him. "I'm really not," I believed. "I'm a screw-up." I curled my fingers against his skin. "I'm a mistake, Frank. I'm a flaw. And I don't like mistakes or flaws."

"You're not a mistake," Frank insisted. "You're so spectacular. You're not flawed, Gee. You're perfect."

I curled my fingers against his skin so hard I'm sure it would leave bruises, and held him close as I tried not to cry.

"That's not true," I told him.

I'm so fucking weird. I'm a freak, I'm a glitch in the system of humanity. I shouldn't be here. The doctors are right, I do have a problem, and it's one that I should've died for.

Frank leaned away, only to cup my face with his hands. "It is true." He kissed me, gently, slowly, sweetly. "I know it is. You're beautiful, Gerard. You're spectacular. Trust me on this."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty - Frank's POV  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, as always, there's not really a good answer as to why this update has taken so long. I think part of it has been my technology issues; my old laptop stopped working almost complete, so I couldn't do any real writing and/or editing until I got my new one (which works WONDERFULLY! Very glad to have a Gateway back in my life. Our home computer, which was older than me, was a Gateway and worked greatly for a really long time and just recently broke down, but all the Dells, HPs, etc. that I've ever had have pretty much gone to hell within a year or three.)Also, my cousins who I see maybe once a year were here for about a week or two, so there was that as well.There's the fact that I start my freshman year (for any of you who don't know, I'm fourteen and just now heading into the terrifying world of high school, haha,) so there's also been that pressure to distract me.  
I do have to say, this chapter pulled together better than I thought it would. It's quite a bit awkward in some places I think, but I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out.  
I get a lot of questions along the lines of "Is Folie over?" and "Was that the last chapter of Folie?" and to answer those questions, I'll say this: You'll know the last chapter when it comes, I'll be sure to put it in the title of the chapter, it's status will be changed to complete, and I'll announce it in the author's note, but we are FAR from that chapter!  
If anyone has any other questions regarding the story, please feel free to ask! I've been bad about responding to comments in the past, but I really do promise to do better from now on.  
I'm considering writing a second fic, after Folie. Not related in any way, it won't be a sequel, but I'm thinking about going in another direction entirely, somewhere along the lines of magic and two boys named Frank and Gerard just trying to figure out where the hell they fit in... But more on that later. I probably won't do any posting for that until after Folie is completed, but I may post a small introduction when we near the end of Folie.  
Anyway, enough of my talking, I hope everyone enjoys!  
Peace, love, and all things unholy,  
Eve

\---

I don't know how long we sat on the bathroom floor. Maybe ten minutes, maybe just two. It could've been an hour.  
It felt like that, like hours.  
I sat next to Gerard, and he rested his head on top of mine.  
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked eventually.  
"I dunno," he said, quietly, shrugging. He sat up straight and I did, too, turning my head to look at him. "I didn't think it was important."  
I sighed. "Of course it's important. Everything about you is important to me."  
Gerard didn't say anything for a while, and then; "While I'm telling you things, I own a gun."  
"I know. Mikey told me."  
He sighed. "I figured he would. You do know, I wouldn't- I won't-"  
"I know," I said. "I know how against all types of violence you are, Mr. Make The Kid With Arachnophobia Kill Spiders For You."  
He smiled, just barely. "Yeah. It's just... Stress reliever, ya know?"  
"Yeah. Why haven't I seen you with it before, though?"  
He shrugged. "I just... I dunno. I haven't touched it in a really long time."  
I titled my head at him. "How'd you even get started with the whole 'gun,' thing? It doesn't seem like something you'd be interested in."  
"My dad," he said quietly. "Mikey doesn't know, I think he was too young to remember, but Dad was really in to that type of stuff. Guns. War. But not in the bad way, he was just patriotic, ya' know? My grandpa, evidently, was in some war; Mikey is named after him. My dad wanted me and Mikey both to go to military school."  
"So why didn't you?"  
"Because I- well, I never wanted to even think about military school or anything like that. Even when I was younger I think I knew I just wanted to do something creative. Something that was productive, not destructive."  
"Why did guns stick, then?"  
"Same reason piano stuck when my grandma's health started declining; something to remember someone I care about by."  
I nodded. "That makes sense, I guess..."  
"I'm glad it does."  
We fell into silence again, and I found myself just looking at Gerard.  
He was annoyingly attractive, sitting on the bathroom floor with his legs pulled up to his chest, spilling his heart out to me. He looked back at me for a few seconds, and then rested his forehead on his knees, lips parting in a light sigh, strands of black hair framing his face.  
"Another thing I guess I should tell you, is that I haven't been taking my pills."  
I leaned back, tilting my head, too, staring at the ceiling. "What pills?" I asked, already guessing.  
"Depression."  
I closed my eyes, and let out a slow breath, swallowing the sadness that was clogging my throat.  
"Okay." I looked over at him. "Why'd you stop taking the pills, Gerard? Mikey told me a while ago, but I want to hear it from you. It's been a while and I want to hear your opinion on it."  
"Well, at first I thought I just stopped because I thought I didn't need them. Because- because you made me happy," he said quietly.  
"You thought?"  
"Well, yeah. But then other stuff started happening, that made me realize that the medicine wasn't helping anyway."  
"It wasn't?"  
"No. It made me too tired. I wanted to sleep all the time. It made me dizzy. Gave me headaches."  
"Then maybe you could talk to someone about switching medications?"  
Gerard stared at the empty space across from him. "No. Switching medication is admitting that I'm still a failure. Do you know how hard it was to admit I was even depressed in the first place, Frank? I can't- I can't tell people that I'm still too weak to survive on my own. I can't tell them that the chemicals that are supposed to help the ones in my head aren't working and that I need different ones."  
"If it helps," I said quietly, scooting closer to him. "I've never told anyone about my depression."  
"No one?" he asked, his fingers finding mine.  
"No one but you," I confirmed, squeezing his hand. "I'm not even, like, officially diagnosed as being depressed. I guess I should take pills for it or something, get some help or something, but... I dunno. My mom would probably just yell at me if I told her, and if she didn't, she'd probably just worry way too fucking much. And anyway, pills cost money that I really do not have."  
Gerard didn't say anything and I guessed he agreed.  
"You should probably know that there's something wrong with my eating habits, too," he told me.  
I closed my eyes for a second or two, leaning back and resting my head against the wall. "I kind of figured about that. You and your 'just a coffee, please,' thing is starting to worry me even more than it did when we first met."  
"I don't know what it is though, that's the problem." He pulled his legs up to his chest even tighter than before, tightening his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees, one hand tangled with mine. "I don't know what's wrong with me."  
"Nothing is wrong with you, Gerard." I squeezed his fingers between mine. "You just don't eat enough."  
He tilted his head, looking over at me, and I was struck by how attractive he looked, even sitting on the bathroom floor and looking so upset.  
"Is that all, Frank? I just don't eat enough? Is that really it?"  
I stared at him. "I dunno. I thought it was."  
"Then why do I feel fat every time I even look at food?" he asked, voice sighing. "Why don't I like eating in front of people sometimes, why does the idea of gaining weight make my hands shake? I have nightmares about throwing up from eating too much. Just thinking about food makes me want to weigh myself to make sure I haven't gained weight."  
I looked away. I'd never felt like that, but I imagined it must be horrible. "I don't know. But I don't want you to feel like that. I think you're perfect just the way you are."  
He turned his head, resting his forehead on his knees again. "What's wrong with me, Frank? Why do I have so many things wrong with me?"  
"I dunno, Gee," I said, upset. "But I really don't think you have anything wrong with you. Like I said, I think you're perfect."  
"I'm not perfect. The definition of perfect is 'without flaw,' and I have more of those than I can count."  
"That also depends on what you consider a flaw, Gerard. I don't think you have flaws, I think there's just a few things that you need help with."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah. I just want you to be happy," I told him honestly. "I want you to like yourself as much as I like you."  
He looked down. "Can we go home, Frankie?" he asked softly.  
I nodded, sighing. "Yeah. I'm sorry that my mom is such a bitch."  
He shrugged. "I'm sorry I'm such a freak."  
I gave him a stern look. "You're not a freak, Gerard."  
He laughed, a dry sort of laugh, not meeting my eyes. "I'm a pansexual teenage boy who draws semi-creepy pictures in my free time and thinks about dying a lot, don't tell me I'm not a freak."  
I couldn't bring myself to argue with him.  
I stood up instead, pushing hair out of my face. I reached down and took his hand as he stood, too.  
"My mom will probably still be out there," I realized.  
"Oh. We can- we can stay for a while, I guess. I never finished my coffee, anyway. And I always finish my coffee."  
I tilted my head, studying his face. "Yeah, I've noticed that."  
He flinched slightly, and then attempted to shrug it off."My doctors say that's a part of, uh- It's my OCD, I mean, that makes me have to do it."  
"Finish coffees...?"  
"Finish things, in general. I guess you could say I'm not a huge fan of leaving things undone."  
"Oh."  
Gerard followed me out of the bathroom and I hated having to let go of his hand before my mom saw.  
"Mom?" I said walking up to the table. We sat down and Gerard's hands went instantly to his coffee. "I think we're gonna leave. Gee isn't feeling well."  
Gerard let one hand drop from his coffee cup, resting softly on my knee, out of view from my mother.  
My mom stared at me for a few seconds. "Why don't you come home, if Gerard doesn't feel well? So you don't get sick too."  
My lips parted, and I didn't quite know what to say.  
"Mrs. Iero," Gerard said quietly, keeping his eyes focused on his coffee. "I don't mean to be rude, but I would really feel more comfortable with Frank there. I- I have trouble sleeping when I don't feel well and it's easier for me if there's someone there when I wake up."  
My mom frowned. "Don't you have a younger brother, though?"  
"Yes ma'am, but I don't want to put that weight on his shoulders. I don't want to make him worry."  
"But you're willing to make my son worry?" my mother scoffed.  
"No," I cut in. "I'm willing to let him make me worry. He's my friend, mom. I want to make sure he's okay."  
My mother studied my face for a long, excruciating moment. "Fine, fine," she said eventually. "Whatever. Just be sure you go to school tomorrow."  
"Of course," I said. And I wasn't lying- I really did need to actually attend school at least for a while.  
"And since we're cutting tonight short, why don't you two come by the house tomorrows, after Frank gets out of school, if Gerard is feeling better?"  
Gerard's fingers pressed slightly against my knee, and I took it as a warning not to argue. "That sounds great, Mrs. Iero," he said, smiling.  
I just nodded in mock-agreement.  
"Okay, well, I'll see you boys later... I'll pay for your drinks, don't worry about it."  
I blinked rapidly. "Uh, okay, Mom. Thanks."  
"Thank you Mrs. Iero," Gerard chimed in, sitting down his finished coffee.  
\---  
We held hands on the way home. It was a mostly silent walk, until I started focusing, picking up on habits that I was guessing were caused by Gerard's OCD. They weren't hard to miss once you started paying attention.  
Watching his feet as we walked down the sidewalk, he looked like he was counting his steps.  
"Does it bother you?" I asked eventually. "Like, does it cause many problems?"  
"What, the depression or the OCD or the insomnia or-"  
"OCD."  
He shrugged, squeezing my hand. "Yeah. Sometimes. Like, it's not the easiest thing to deal with, but some people have it a lot worse than I do, I guess. There's a few things that I like keeping under control and stuff, but I'm mostly just a counter, I think. Some people have a lot more components to it, it changes who they are."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
I thought about it for a long while. "Is making lists a part of it?"  
"Lists? Oh yeah. I make a lot of lists. Like, mostly in my head and stuff, but..."  
"I understand," I said, nodding. "I think I know what you mean."  
His fingers squished mine and we went about a minute or two in silence.  
"They're mostly about you," Gerard said suddenly.  
"What are?"  
"The lists."  
I paused for a second, not knowing how to answer. "Is that a bad thing?"  
"I don't think so. I like my lists."  
"What types of things about me do you list?"  
"Well." He titled his head, eyes focusing on his feet as we walked. "Sometimes I count how many times you laugh, just, like, in general. And then there are subcategories in that. Like, I have lists for smiles that are fake and ones that are real and ones that I caused and ones that I wish I had caused... All sorts of stuff."  
I stared at the side of his head. "And you keep track of all of these things? In your head?"  
He nodded. "Sometimes I miscount, and that really sucks, but I write them down when I can so I don't forget."  
"What... What other types of lists do you have about me?"  
He shrugged. "Just... Lists."  
"Oh."  
We walked in silence after that, and I wondered a lot about his lists.  
When we arrived at his front door, Gerard fumbled in his pockets with one hand for his keys, and it started raining, lightly.  
"This reminds me of the first time you brought me here," I said, squeezing Gerard's hand. He paused, the key in the door, half turned.  
"Yeah," he said, a small half-smile gracing his lips. "I guess it does."  
I looked at my feet. "I'm so sorry, Gerard."  
He straightened up, turning to look at me, leaving the key in the door.  
"What on earth for?"  
"I'm sorry that you're so sad sometimes," I sighed, studying his eyes, feeling the way his hand tightened around mine. "I'm sorry for not being able to make you happier."  
Gerard's lips parted in surprise. "Wh- what?"  
I looked at my feet. "I'm sorry, that sounded stupid. It's just- I- well. You just get so sad, sometimes. And- and I notice, I notice that something is off, but... I never say anything, because I don't know how to help. I don't know how to make you feel better. And I don't want to say something and ask if you're okay, because if you are, then you'll start thinking that I worry too much, or you'll get mad, and you'll start lying when you really aren't okay, and..."  
He was staring at me, so I forced myself to look at him. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes, though; I focused myself instead on his lips, the slight surprise that he expressed there. I looked at the soft curve of his nose, the gentle slope of his cheeks, the way the rain caught in his hair.  
He was beautiful, right then. It was weird thinking of a boy as that, as beautiful, but there really was no other way to put it.  
So I told him that, I said, "You're beautiful," and his head tilted, his face pulled into a strange expression that I'd never seen before.  
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I can't quite see that, but... Thank you. You're really stunning, too, Frank."  
I chuckled, looking at my feet. I was blushing, but hey, so was he.  
"You make me happy," I confessed to him.  
"You make me happy, too. I- Well. I like you. A lot."  
He pulled me into a tight hug before I could ask what he had been about to say before he changed his mind.  
I was slightly surprised that he didn't kiss me, but I wasn't going to argue. I appreciated the hug, took it for what it was, said, "I like you a lot, too, Gerard."  
He pressed his face into my hair, held me tighter.  
"Frank?" Gerard said, soft, pulling away just enough to look at me.  
"Yeah, Gee?"  
"Tomorrow you have to go to school. You realize that, right?"  
"Yeah," I sighed. "I'll miss you."  
"I'll miss you, too. My mom left me with a shit-ton of school work that I've been avoiding so I guess I'll have to work on that." His lips brushed my forehead. "I can't wait for summer, when you can just stay here all the time."  
I nodded. "Yeah, that's gonna' be nice."  
Sitting around with Gerard, every day, all day. It sounded great.  
He kissed me, softly.  
I was surprising myself with how much I was enjoying his kisses.  
"C'mon," he mumbled around my lips, tilting his head away. "Let's go to bed. I'm tired, I wanna' lay down."  
\---  
Sleeping that night was a bit difficult.  
At first, it was a good difficult. It was a we-can't-stop-talking-and-making-conversation difficult. We didn't talk about anything too deep, just food and movies and school and music. Eventually, Gerard wrapped one arm around me loosely, and we laid face to face for a while and just looked at each other. He pressed his lips to mine, soft and warm and like he really, really liked me, which I totally appreciated, because I really, really liked him too.  
"Goodnight, Frank."  
"Goodnight, Gerard," I said, keeping my voice low.  
For the first time, Gerard fell asleep before me.  
I watched him sleep, hoping I wasn't being creepy but figuring he wouldn't care.  
His lips twitched, the muscles in his face tensed up.  
I lifted my hand to his face, rubbing the places where small creases of worry formed, hoping he wasn't having nightmares.  
I didn't want to sleep, not right now.  
I wanted to talk to Gerard about some things. I wanted to discuss his nightmares, his OCD, his intellect. I wanted to sit up with him until we fell asleep from too much deep conversation and too much rough thinking.  
He jerked in his sleep, several times, so I reached over and put my hand on the side of his face, brushing my lips against his nose. "Hey," I said, quiet enough that it wouldn't wake him up but loud enough that he could hopefully hear me. "Don't worry yourself."  
He mumbled something in his sleep that I couldn't understand.  
I shushed him softly.  
I wasn't planning on waking him up tomorrow before I went to school, he needed his sleep. I already had a cute little note planned out in my head, already figured that I should leave it on the pillow where he'd see it first thing in the morning instead of the fridge.  
I rolled over, closing my eyes.  
There was a small ache, deep in my stomach. It was the small ache of knowing that I had left something unfinished, a small ache that I imagine must be similar to the one Gerard gets when he has trouble with his OCD.  
I wondered what it was, that had been left unfinished, and as the dreams started messing with my head, making me see things in the dark that weren't really there, I realized what it was.  
I hadn't asked if what he had started to say earlier, before he said he liked me, had been "I love you."  
\---  
I woke up the next morning to my cellphone alarm blasting some indie, slightly psychedelic, post-hardcore rock band that Mikey had introduced me too, and managed to find the 'Off' button before it woke Gerard up.  
I got up, reluctantly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting there for a few seconds. I didn't feel good. Not physically, not mentally. Not in my stomach or in my head.  
I considered laying back down, curling up, going back to sleep with Gerard's arm around me, hoping that the sick feeling in my stomach would be gone soon.  
I closed my eyes, as tight as I could, felt them water.  
I didn't need this. Not now.  
Not now, please not now.  
My head felt like it had been swarmed by bees, or something, like small, deadly bees that carried bad thoughts.  
I couldn't help but start to think about a lot of things that had happened last night, a lot of things that Gerard had said, and the things he didn't.  
I stood up, trying to defeat the voice inside my head that was telling me to lay down and just waste away in one spot for the rest of my life.  
I walked to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror until I realized that something was off about my reflection.  
Were all those ghosts stories real? I started running through the scenarios in my head, recalling the stories I'd read when I was younger, thinking up a bunch of different situations; mirror steals my soul. Mirror opens portal into another world. My reflection stabs me to death.  
My eyes averted faster than my heart sped up, and I started telling myself that it wasn't possible.  
Your reflection couldn't kill you, I'd just read way too many fucking books and seen one too many stupid horror movies when I was younger.  
After I peed and then stared at myself in the mirror some more, trying to figure out if the kid who stared back at me was capable of stabbing someone to death, I wandered into the Way family kitchen and ate some of Gerard's favorite cereal, even though I didn't really care for it. I convinced myself to drink some water, after pulling out my phone to look up if death by dehydration was painful. (Evidently, it wasn't pleasant.)  
I then padded quietly back to Gerard's room, looking briefly over at him to make sure he was still asleep, and then deciding, after staring at him for a while, to put on clean clothes. Ending up in one of Gerard's shirts and a pair of my own jeans, (ripped in the knee from that one time I was pretending to be playing on stage at a concert for some really-fucking-epic band and dropped to my knees with my guitar in hand, skidding across the floor and destroying what was left of the fabric over my left knee,) I decided that it felt at least a little better to be in clean clothes.  
I ran my fingers through my hair until I figured it looked okay, not sparing myself a second look in the mirror for fear of being brutally murdered by my own self. I forced myself to stay in the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee again, just because I hated peeing in the bathrooms at school and didn't want to have to go again until I came home.  
I wrote the note for Gerard-  
"At school, didn't want to wake you up. I'll text you when I can. Don't forget we're going to my house after I get home from school."  
I stared at the note for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to end it.  
I ended up just scribbling down "xoxoFrank," and left it at that, sitting the paper down where I'd slept last night.  
Gerard stirred slightly as I started to leave his room, but didn't say anything.  
\---  
I got a text in the middle of English.  
>Why didn't you wake me up? xoG.<  
I blinked at my phone.  
>You need your sleep, sweetheart. xoF.<  
I sat my phone in my lap and went back to doodling, figuring Gerard was done since he didn't like texting that much, and not feeling like doing the classwork.  
I was in the exact same mood as I was this morning.  
Tired.  
Uninterested.  
Not wanted to put effort into anything.  
Paranoid.  
Hollow.  
And maybe just a little bit sad.  
I was drawing the best I could manage, stupid little stick figures that looked like squiggly circles when compared to Gerard's masterpieces.  
My phone buzzed.  
>There are some really attractive boys in your class.<  
I stared at my phone for a few seconds, reading and re-reading the message.  
>What?<  
>Home is boring. Window shopping for cute boys at this sweet little place called 'Your School' is much more interesting.<  
I rolled my eyes, huffing a bit and then looking up quickly to make sure the teacher didn't notice that I was totally not writing a summary of Shakespeare's sonnet.  
I typed the first and only reply I could think of.  
>Stop looking through the window you fxcking stalker.<  
I could almost imagine Gerard laughing at me, creeping outside the classroom window.  
>You spelled 'fucking' wrong.<  
I almost snorted out loud.  
>I know, you jxckxss. I never curse in text. Force of habit.<  
>'Jxckxss?<  
>You know what, Gee, just fuck off.<  
>I thought you 'never cuss in text?'<  
>Only for you, motherfucker. Only for you.<  
>It's hot when you use profanity.<  
I could feel myself blushing. If he had been here I probably would've freaked out and stuttered out something stupid, but talking behind a screen made me feel a lot more laid back. Fighting through social awkwardness was a lot easier when the other person couldn't see you. (Of course, I knew that Gerard was somewhere outside of the classroom window right now, and could more than likely see me. Luckily my teacher's desk faced away from the window, and there was a huge tree right outside. I glanced at the window, staring intently. I couldn't see him but he was probably sitting on the ground beneath it or something. I knew for a fact that it was actually a really good hiding spot; before the older students found out I was younger than them, they would sit there with me and smoke with me.)  
>Maybe I should start using more, in that case.<  
There was a short pause before he replied.  
>A boy two rows over and three seats back from you is staring at the back of your head and chewing his pencil. I think he likes you.<  
I blinked in surprise, glancing over my shoulder. Sure enough, he turned red and looked down at his notebook.  
>Pete? Are you serious?<  
>Yeah. He's hiding behind his hair now.<  
I glanced back- Pete had black hair with a few red streaks in the front, just long enough to hide his eyes behind. I could see his mouth though, and he was chewing his bottom lip so hard I thought it would bleed.  
My phone alerted me of another text so I looked down, frowning in confusion.  
>You should talk to him.<  
I blinked in shock.  
>Why? I don't want to lead him on.<  
His reply was really fast.  
>Invite him over to your house tonight, he looks lonely. I think he needs a friend. Just mention me so he knows you're not interested.<  
I reread the text a few times.  
>He has more friends than I do.<  
>But how many of them are he actually close to?<  
That, I didn't know.  
I wasn't sure how my mom would react to me having more than one person over, considering I didn't really have friends, not sense middle school, but Gerard was right. Pete never really talked to anyone besides these two kids with curly hair and some other guy who I think plays the drums, or something like that. If I could catch them in a group I might invite all of them, just for the heck of it. I wasn't too big on hanging out with other people or trying to make friends, but I trusted Gerard.  
>Okay, sure. I'll invite him.< I paused for a second, and then started another text. >So, Gerard, why are you stalking me?<  
>Like I said, I got bored, and Mikey went to the comic book store. So naturally my inner creep got the best of me.<  
I was smiling, I couldn't help it.  
Big mistake, on my part.  
Before I could comprehend what was happening, my phone was being snatched from between my fingers.  
I felt my heart drop as I looked up to see someone standing over me, a classmate who I knew well enough to know that if I started fighting back to, would get violent. "Texting your boyfriend?" he sneered, dangling my phone over my head.  
I looked around the room, because where the fucking hell was the teacher?  
And of course, class had let out without me noticing. And it was lunch time now, so the teachers had all abandoned their classrooms for the cafeteria, and our stupid school doesn't mind if you eat in the classrooms, so if someone passed by, they'd assume we were just two buddies having lunch and messing with each other.  
Pete was hanging around the door, his locker was right outside.  
I cleared my throat, standing up. The guy was taller than me, I saw no hope in getting my phone back, and I didn't feel like getting my head bashed in today. (As much as I didn't want to be here, I'd at least like to stay conscious if I was going to be forced to.)  
I also happened to know, luckily, that if there wasn't a chase involved, this particular person gave up causing trouble easily.  
"You can keep the phone, Bert," I said, sighing, gathering up my other things. "Have fun with it. I'm sure you'll find the texts to my mom and my music very entertaining."  
He rolled his eyes, dropping my phone on to my pile of books, and I somehow managed to get it to slid to rest against my chest and not clatter onto the floor. "You're no fun, Iero."  
"Yeah, well you're an asshole."  
"Like I haven't heard that one before." He kicked my desk and then walked away.  
I rolled my eyes back at him, even though it was pointless considering he was gone.  
"H-hey," I heard a quiet voice speak up from the doorway.  
I looked up, blinking at Pete, and joined him in the hall. He shifted nervously, which was amusing, because Pete wasn't the nervous type of person. He was pretty outgoing. He would probably be really popular if people just got past his appearance and music taste, but of course in this shit-hole of a high school that won't happen any time soon.  
"Hey," I said back.  
He smiled. "So I see Bert didn't punch you."  
I smiled back, laughing. "Yeah, no, he didn't. He's the cool type of asshole, the one who doesn't kill you unless you give him a reason. I think we're secretly friends."  
Pete laughed too, looking at his shoes, sticking his hands in his back pockets.  
I glanced over at his open locker, his schoolwork and binders sitting in the bottom, lunch bag on top.  
I blinked a few times, thinking about what Gerard had said.  
"Hey, Pete? I was wondering, uh- I normally just sit alone during lunch, could I-?"  
His face lit up, but I couldn't tell if it was because of his smile or because of the look in his eyes. "Sure," he said happily. "You can sit with us."  
I grinned.  
\---  
Pete's friends were cool.  
They were really fucking great, actually.  
I found it insane that we hadn't all gotten together before just now, but I guess that was my own fault for assuming that no on in this school could be worth talking to.  
I wasn't, like, a social hermit, I don't think. I knew people well enough to have conversations in the hall and stuff; Pete and I had talked about music every once and a while, there was some kid named Brendon with a killer voice that I stopped to talk to sometimes, and there was this guy named James that I sometimes joked about starting a band with, but I could never bring myself to really become friends with anyone.  
I just didn't have the trust in me to be friends with people, I guess.  
"So," Ray said during a small silence. "You play guitar?"  
"Uh, yeah," I said, nodding. "Not the best in the world, but I try."  
"Ray and Joe play, too," Pete piped up. "I'm a bass boy myself."  
I looked at the other person with us, Andy. "What about you, Andy, guitar or bass? Instrument of the gods or the play-toy of the dorks?"  
Pete kicked my shin lightly and sent me a joking glare.  
Andy grinned. "Drums, actually. I considered bass for a while, beautiful instrument and all, but drummers set the rhythm when it comes to who's better in bed."  
I think I choked on my sandwich. "Are you comparing music to sex?"  
"It's a good metaphor, I have to admit," Ray said, nodding. Ray had a lot of hair, but then again so did Joe. I couldn't help but wonder if they synchronized that or if maybe that's why they became friends in the first place.  
"Yeah, I guess," I agreed. "But sex is sex and music is music. I like to keep my hobbies separate, thank you very much." There was a light chuckle at that from everyone and I felt proud, I wasn't really good at making people anything but angry or annoyed, so seeing someone besides Gerard finding something I say amusing made me feel happy. "Seriously, though," I continued. "Music is a great way to express emotions and shit, but if sex is like anything it's probably like art."  
"You gonna' get all poetic on us, Iero?"  
I rolled my eyes at Joe, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I couldn't tell if he meant it jokingly or as a warning not to make metaphors like that.  
I wasn't being weird, was I?  
Gerard wouldn't think it was weird.  
Gerard would just kiss me and agree and then we would have a whole conversation about it.  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I sighed. "Love and art and all that shit, so cheesy, I know, yeah."  
"I actually agree with you," Pete said, leaning back in the grass, looking up at the sky. We'd chosen a spot outside, because it was far easier to have conversations without the stupid background noise of the cafeteria.  
"Really?"  
"Yeah."  
"Thanks, I guess?"  
Did you say thank you to someone agreeing to you?  
I felt stupid.  
"No problem, it's actually a really sweet metaphor. But, like, I have to agree with Andy, it's like music too because music is art."  
"Yeah, but, like, well..." I shifted a bit, almost squirming in discomfort and unsureness, tilting my head to the side and considering. "Music is art, but it's different than physical art. Physical art is something you can see, and-"  
"You can't see love, though," Pete argued. "You just feel it, like you feel music."  
"But music isn't so much like love as it as the art of expressing love," I said, shaking my head. "Music is about love, it's about showing your love. But emotions are just chemicals in your head, y'know? Music triggers emotions, just like love does, but music is just more about telling someone you love them than actually loving."  
Ray cleared his throat. "But how do you hold your argument for love being like art, then?"  
"Love is like art because love is art, it's a physical form of it and-" My phone rang, and I blinked a few times, shuffling it awkwardly out of my pocket and blinking with a blank gaze at Gerard's name on my screen. "Uh, sorry, one second, I'll- I'll be right back."  
I stood up and walked a few feet away, answering the call.  
"Gerard, I-"  
"Are you guys arguing?"  
I rolled my eyes, looking around. "No, we're just having a friendly debate, everything is fine. Can you, like, not spy on me? Where the fuck are you, anyway?"  
"It's not like I'm hiding, or something."  
I turned around, looking around the schoolyard, rolling my eyes when I saw him sitting at one of the picnic tables that we're supposed to be using to eat lunch at.  
"What the fuck, Gerard? How have you not been seen yet?"  
"Your school has shitty security. I walked on campus as people were leaving for lunch, no one said a fucking thing about it. I'm just gonna' leave as people start coming back."  
"You're an idiot," I said, shaking my head. "If someone realizes that you don't go here-"  
"Then I just say I'm here waiting for my beautiful boyfriend to get out of class so we can go hang out at his house."  
I paused a moment, looking at him from across the schoolyard. "Yep," I said, nodding in realization, pressing my lips tight together. "You're still an idiot. A sweet idiot, but an idiot all the same."  
He smiled, raising one hand in a slight wave and I rolled my eyes and hoped that he could see it from there. "You should come over here. Talk to me."  
"I am talking to you," I said, waving back.  
"Face to face, it's funner that way."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah. I can't see if you're blushing or not from all the way over here."  
I glanced over at Pete and Ray and Joe and Andy, and once I was sure none of them were looking my way, I quickly flashed my middle finger in Gerard's direction.  
"Was that a threat or an offer?" he asked suggestively.  
I rolled my eyes again. "I'm hanging up now, Gerard."  
"Wait, are you gonna invite-"  
"Maybe just Pete," I said quietly, looking over at them. They were talking, laughing. They already had a really good group, I didn't really need to be there. "Too many people at once, it's making me feel weird, I kinda feel stupid around them."  
There was a short silence, and I looked back at Gerard, who was looking over at me with a soft expression. "You're not stupid, Frank."  
"Yeah? Well, I feel like it."  
"You're very intelligent, sweetheart."  
I looked at my feet, studying my shoelaces. "Thanks. I guess. But, whatever. I don't feel like it."  
"Frank, please, don't-"  
"Can we, like, not do this right now?"  
There was a pause, a slight falter in his voice. "Yeah. Whatever. I don't get why you don't believe me."  
"Yeah, whatever."  
He paused for a moment. "Are you okay? You seem... Off."  
"Yeah, no, I'm fine," I said.  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah, I fucking am... I gotta' go, Gerard," I sighed.  
I felt like shit.  
I felt like I was doing a lot of things wrong at once.  
"Okay," he said, voice quiet.  
"I'll see you later, okay?" I tried to force as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible. "Just, go home, I guess. I'll come over right after school and then we can go to my place."  
"Okay," he agreed, still not sounding sure. "Yeah. See you later."  
I didn't want to hang up after that, I wanted to say something more but I didn't know what, but I ended up doing it anyway, taking one last glance at Gerard before walking back to Pete and everyone else.  
Pete and Andy were arguing about something with music, something about Motley Crue and whether they actually did suck in recent live performances or not, and Joe seemed to be agreeing with what Pete said. I sat back down on the ground, a little further away than I had been before.  
Ray looked over at me, frowning slightly. "Everything okay?"  
"Yeah," I said, nodding, lying.  
"You sure? I don't mean to pry, but you look don't look the happiest."  
I shrugged a bit, noticing Pete turn to us slightly and letting Joe take over his side of whatever the argument was.  
"I'm fine," I insisted. "Just annoyed with my- my boyfriend, I guess, but it's whatever. I don't even know what I'm actually annoyed about."  
There was a short silence during which I immediately regretted saying 'boyfriend.'  
Pete's face fell.  
"I'm sure it's fine, whatever it is," Ray said, and I was glad that that was all he had to say. I was glad that there was no surprised gasp of 'you're gay?' or an accusation of 'faggot."  
The look on Pete's face hurt equally as much as any of those words could've, though.  
I should've led the conversation with something about Gerard. I'd planned on mentioning him, so Pete knew, but-  
"Frank's got a boyfriend?" Andy said, studying my face, evidently having joined our conversation.  
"Yeah," I said, my cheeks turning pink.  
I just wanted to get off of the subject, for Pete's sake and for mine.  
"What's his name?"  
"Gerard."  
"'Gerard,'" Joe echoed. "That's neat. Makes me think of Gerard Hopkins."  
Ray wrinkled his nose. "Wasn't Hopkins a writer or something?"  
"Yeah," Pete said slowly, quietly. "He's actually one of my favorite poets. Any guy brave enough to write poetry is pretty fucking cool if you ask me."  
"Yeah?" I said. "That's funny, I think Gee writes poems."  
"'Gee,'" Andy repeated. "That's cute."  
I rolled my eyes, knowing I was blushing. "Whatever."  
"Does he call you Frankie?" Pete asked quietly. "I would call you Frankie, if- I mean- just-"  
He fell silent and his face went three different shades of embarrassed pink.  
"He does," I said, blinking at Pete. "Yeah, he does sometimes."  
Pete looked away, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, okay."  
There was a silence that made me want to throw up.  
Ray glanced at me, and then at Pete, like he knew there was some unspoken issue.  
He cleared his throat. "Joe, Andy? You guys want to go ahead and go to English, so we beat the hall crowds?"  
"Uh, yeah, sure," one of them, I didn't pay attention to which, said, and they all shuffled to collect their trash and books and things.  
Joe glanced at Pete. "Hey, you coming Pete?"  
"I'll be there in a minute," he said, looking down. "Don't wait up for me."  
The three guys left and I sent Ray a thankful look, and he just returned it with a slight nod.  
The second they were out of hearing range, I turned to Pete.  
"Look, I'm sorry if-"  
"Why didn't you say something?" he said, staring at his shoes. He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, hands supporting him on the ground behind him. "If you fucking knew I liked you, why'd you get my hopes up like that? You never sit with anyone at lunch, like, ever, I thought maybe-"  
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to lead you on. I just want to be friends, Pete. I don't have many friends."  
He laughed slightly, blinking a few times rapidly. "Yeah, I don't either."  
"You have more than me."  
He shrugged. "I guess. But the guys are mostly just in-school friends, y'know? We never really see each other beyond school, I spend weekends and summers and shit alone."  
I felt bad almost instantly. At least I had people, people in general. Not many close people but at least they were there.  
I had Sandra at the diner and Gerard, those were the only two people I really knew that well, and then there were the few people at school like Brendon and James that I saw maybe every once and a while after school, because if we all happened to be going to the record store or a concert or something we would go as a really loose, non-committed group so we at least would feel a little less alone.  
"I'm sorry," I told him.  
He laughed, short and unamused. "Yeah. Most people are."  
I studied the side of his face for a minute. Pete was an attractive person, I had to admit that. I couldn't understand how in the hell he was still single. (But then again, I'd wondered the exact same thing about Gerard the first time we met.)  
"Gerard is coming to my house tonight," I said. "To hang out and for dinner and shit. But my mom doesn't exactly know about our relationship or anything, so, it's just a 'as friends' thing. Do you wanna' come, hang out a while? Watch a movie or something?"  
Pete was still focused on his shoes. He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it lightly. "So, let me get this straight; you're asking the kid who you know has a crush on you to come over to your house, while your boyfriend is there, to hang out and watch a movie?"  
I rolled my eyes. "When you put it like that, I sound like an asshole. I'm just trying to be friends, Pete, and anyway, you'll like Gerard. I can teach you both to play guitar or something, or we can talk about comics or books or music or whatever. Whatever you want to do."  
He chewed on his lip some more.  
"Yeah. Okay. Sure. I don't know why, but sure."  
I smiled. "Don't sound so worried, it'll be fine. I really want to be friends with you."  
I stood up and picked up the trash from my lunch, leaning over and patting his shoulder. "Meet me after school, okay? By the tree in front of the building."  
"Okay."  
I started walking away, pausing and turning when I heard Pete's voice behind me.  
"Hey, Frank?"  
"Yeah, Pete?"  
"For the record, I really like you. Like, really, really like you."  
I blinked at him a few times. "For the record," I said. "I think you're a pretty cool kid, Pete, but you could do a hell of a lot better than me."  
\---  
Pete was already by the tree by the time I got there.  
Gerard was also there.  
I watched from far off, watching them talk. They shook hands, Gerard shifted awkwardly, running his hand through his hair and smiling nervously. Pete was laughing but I couldn't tell much else.  
I found it amazing how much easier it was to read Gerard's body than Pete's.  
"Gee! Pete!" I called, walking towards them. The both waved, and I smiled. "Hey."  
"Hey, Frank," Gerard said at the same time Pete said a quiet, "Hi, Frankie."  
Pete flushed slightly and Gerard didn't seem to notice.  
"I thought I told you to wait at your house?" I scolded Gerard.  
He shrugged. "Figured it would be easier this way. Now we can all just walk to yours."  
"Oh," I said. "Okay, uh, whatever. What about Mikey, he know you're gone?"  
"Yeah, but he's at the comic store today anyway. They're starting a new Batman series, he pounced on the idea of it and said he'd be sure to tell me all about it."  
Pete adjusted his backpack on his shoulders.  
I nodded. "That sounds nice." I looked between my best friend, and my almost-friend-but-not-quite-there-yet friend. "Everyone ready to go, then?"  
Pete nodded, said "Yeah," and glanced at Gerard, who just nodded.  
I pointed down the road. "Well, that way we go, then."  
We started walking, and Gerard got really quiet really fast. I didn't know if it was because how rude I'd been earlier, or if it was because Pete was there, but I didn't question it.  
"So," Pete said, falling in to step with me as Gerard got a bit ahead of us. "Who's Mikey?"  
"Gee's little brother. How old are you, Pete? I don't even know."  
"Seventeen."  
I nodded. "Mikey's four years younger than us."  
"Oh." There was a small pause, and Pete tilted his head. "How old is Gerard?"  
"Eighteen," I said.  
"So, he's a senior? I haven't seen him around school anywhere."  
"He's home schooled," I explained.  
"Oh, that's cool. I've always wished I could be home schooled."  
"Yeah? Me too. Gerard says he misses public school, though."  
"Really?" Pete asked, surprised. "Why?"  
"He misses having friends, I think," I said quietly. "His mom, Mikey, a few near-strangers and I are the only people he really has."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
"I can hear you guys talking about me," Gerard informed us.  
"I know," I said back.  
\---  
My mom wasn't home so the three of us sat in the living room floor and drank soda for a few hours. We talked about music and life and art, and I was really surprised by how much Gerard and I both had in common with Pete.  
"I'm huge on writing, man," Pete confessed, pulling his legs in cross-legged-style, sipping at his Pepsi. "Not much of an artist, but I think I'm an okay writer."  
"Gerard's a great artist, and writer," I offered. "And he plays piano."  
"Yeah?" Pete asked. "You play piano, I play bass, Frank's got guitar. We could get Andy in on this to play drums and we could start ourselves a band."  
"Who'd sing, though?" I asked. "I can't fucking sing worth a shit."  
"I've never actually heard you sing," Gerard said. "Maybe, like, wailing along to the Misfits, but you suck on purpose to annoy Mikey. I've never heard you actually sing."  
"Well, same could be said for you," I said, tapping him lightly with my foot.  
"What about you, Pete?" Gerard asked. "You sing?"  
"I try," he confessed.  
"I do too," Gerard said, nodding.  
They both looked at me, and I admitted with a long sigh that I, too, have tried to sing sometimes, too.  
We chatted about just simple shit like that for a while, music and the kinds we liked, the instruments we knew how to play or wished we could play, and the kinds of music we liked to sing and wish we could sing (apparently, Gerard could only sing show tunes and Pete could only scream, but then again I just described myself as sounding like a "whiny little kid who hates his life.")  
My mom walked into the house and straight into the living room about thirty minutes later, when we were deep into a conversation about the pros and cons of being in a band or being a solo artist, and she paused with key and purse in hand.  
She blinked at me, and then at Gerard and Pete.  
"Hi Frank, Hello Gerard," she said, blinking. "And, uh, who's this?"  
"This is Pete Wentz," I introduced her.  
Pete waved a small hello and my mom just nodded, looking at me.  
"Frank, I thought just Gerard was coming today?"  
I shrugged. "Well, I-"  
"Kitchen. Now."  
I glanced at Pete and blinked at him, and he just shrugged a small shrug.  
I sighed and followed my mom to the kitchen.  
"Who are these people," was the first half of her question, "and why are you suddenly Mr. Popular?"  
I stared at my mom, trying to figure out if she was serious or not. "They're my friends," I said slowly, "and it's like two people, mother. I'm literally the least popular person in school."  
"Well, why are you suddenly talking to people again, huh? What happened to your whole 'social aniexy' thing?"  
I felt like choking, but whether I wanted to choke her or myself, I couldn't figure out.  
"Mom," I just said. "Can you please, like, not make me feel like shit?"  
She crossed her arms, putting all of her weight on one foot, and started saying something, but I honestly did not want to hear it.  
"We'll be back inside for dinner in an hour," I said, leaving the kitchen, sighing.  
Gerard and Pete were both standing up when I walked back in the living room.  
"Everything okay?" Pete asked, frowning.  
I just nodded, but between his gaze and Gerard's, I could tell that they knew I didn't mean it.  
"Come on," Gerard said, standing a bit straighter. "Why don't we, like, go outside, or something, get some fresh air?"  
I considered for a moment. "Well. That's a good idea. You guys stay in here, I'll be right back, okay? I'm gonna' go grab something from upstairs."  
\---  
By the time I'd managed to teach Gerard how to play a few songs on the guitar, Pete was giggling hysterically at the two of us, laying on in back in the grass nearby.  
"You laughing at me, Wentz?" Gerard grinned, strumming a few awkward, completely out of tune chords.  
"Maybe," he giggled. "What ya' gonna do about it, Way?"  
I laughed at the two of them, shaking my head. "You two are such dorks."  
"You know you love it," Pete said with a smile.  
I just rolled my eyes, but grinned anyway. "Yeah, I guess you're right, I sorta do."  
And then Gerard smiled, too, and everyone was happy.  
\---  
The rest of the night was really nice, until about dinner. Pete went home, his mom called him on his cellphone and informed him that they had some family visiting that night, so he offered us both hugs and then left with a wave, promising me that I could totally sit with him at lunch again tomorrow.  
The second Gerard and I walked into the kitchen, though, a small piece of my own personal hell broke loose.  
My mom was on the phone, with who I assumed was just her flavor of the week, until I started really listening to the conversation.  
"Soon," she insisted, as she was closing the fridge. "Yeah, I know, I know- Okay, sweetheart. Love you too."  
I blinked a few times. "Who was that?" I asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. Gerard hovered a bit awkwardly next to me, not really seeming to know what to do with himself.  
"A friend of mine," was all my mom said, shrugging. "He's coming over for dinner next Friday."  
"Really?"  
She glared at me. "Yes, really."  
"So, I'm gonna' have to be here for this?"  
"Yes, I expect you to be. And if you're not, there will be consequences."  
I looked at Gerard, who was giving me a sympathetic glance.  
I mouthed "help," at him, but he didn't seem to know how.  
There was a short pause, a bit of silence.  
"Mrs. Iero," Gerard said, leaning on the counter next to me. "I don't mean to be rude-"  
"If you have to say that," she interrupted. "Then whatever you're about to say is probably rude."  
The silence that followed that was a stunned one, Gerard blinking in shock and I feeling like punching my own mother in the face.  
"So," my mom said, turning suddenly towards the dining room. "Who's ready for dinner?"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One  
I only have fifteen minutes to write this author's note / edit, so please excuse the rushed manner and terrible editing of this. Anyway, there's a few important things I want and need to say:  
Wow, high school is stressful. I think I took out a lot of my depression out on this chapter, so I apologize for that.  
I'm just going to go ahead and slap a giant TRIGGER WARNING across the rest of the story. (If you don't already know what that means, then you probably don't need to know, but I would still google it just to be sure.) Like, a huge, giant, flashing sign "trigger warning" outlined in neon yellow, and bolded, twice italicized, slapped across the cover of this. There's no actual action of it (you know what I mean,) in this chapter, but there is quite a lot of talking about it.  
A short bit of background on your author- Frank and Gerard's stories (you'll see what I mean, once you start reading,) are both a combination of my own, but my methods and most of my reasoning for my madness are Gerard's.  
If you know me in real life, I'm just going to go ahead and say that, no, I do not want to talk about, nor will I ever want to talk about it. If you're my girlfriend (hello, Kayleigh!) and you happen to be reading this chapter... Well, I'll just say that I wish you weren't, and if you want to talk about, then I guess we can try.  
Well, I'm running out of time (actually, this entire note only took six minutes to type, I'm proud of myself,) so I have to go!  
Enjoy the story.  
\---  
Frank swimming was probably the single most entertaining thing I had ever witnessed in my life. His hair stuck to his forehead and he scrunched up his nose when he realized this as he sat next to me on the ground, carefully pulling wet strands away from his face.  
"I look like a dork," he said, blinking at me.  
I just laughed, reaching over and moving as much hair out of his face as I could. "At least it's shorter than it was yesterday, it's a good thing you cut it last night. You'd have hair stuck to your nose if you hadn't."  
He rolled his eyes and waved his hand around a bit in attempts to knock mine away from his hair. "Whatever," he said, looking down. "It's cut, it's over with. Can't change it now."  
I blinked rapidly, frowning at him. He'd been so moody lately, perfectly fine one minute and then seeming upset or annoyed about something the next. "Are you okay?"  
He looked up, returning the rapid blinks. "I'm fine. Why?"  
"It's- it's nothing," I said, looking away, focusing my eyes on the surface of the pool water. Maybe if I stared at it long enough, the glare of the sun's light would blind me. "You just... Never mind. It's not important."  
"Gerard, it is too important if-"  
There was a sudden yell of, "Cannon ball!" which drowned out Frank's voice, followed by a loud splash that made me duck behind Frank, who hid himself pointlessly behind his hands.  
Someone started shouting, "Andy Hurley, I will fucking kill you if you get my radio wet," and there was a burst of laughter followed by two more people jumping into the pool.  
I jumped, water hitting my face.  
Frank snickered at me. "Idiot. If you don't want to get wet, don't come to the pool."  
I rolled my eyes, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand, trying to judge how cold the water was. "Pete invited all three of us, and anyway, you and Mikey are both really enjoying yourselves. I'm perfectly fine sitting here with my pizza. It would've been impolite to not accept the offer."  
"Speaking of pizza," Frank said, stealing the plate off of my lap. He took a bite and then proceeded to speak with his mouth full, making his voice sound like a little kid's; "I'm hunwy as fwuck."  
I laughed at him and he grinned.  
"What?" I asked, giggling. "I'm laughing at you, you're not supposed to smile! What are you smiling about, fucker?"  
"Your laugh," he said, smile widening. "It's cute as fucking hell, man."  
I think I was blushing, but Frank was laughing at this point, so I didn't really care, because Frank had a great laugh.  
"I guarantee you that yours is cuter," I said.  
"Yeah? Wanna' bet?"  
"I'll bet, but who would we get to decide? And don't even say Pete, he's biased."  
"Hm..." Frank pressed his lips together. "Oh well. I guess knowing in my heart that I'm right is enough."  
A dripping wet, slightly more tan than yesterday Pete Wentz sat next to us suddenly, shaking his head like a dog and flinging water everywhere.  
"Dude," I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand, yet again. "Keep the water in the pool."  
Pete laughed. "You used my name in vain, I heard it. You deserve to be splashed."  
I rolled my eyes and laughed too, producing a small smile from Pete.  
I don't think he liked me very much; I don't think he hated me, but I defiantly wasn't his favorite person in the world. I think he resented me a bit, and I knew that he wished that the relationship between Frank and I were different. I was hoping that he'd start warming up to me eventually, though, he seemed like a nice person.  
"It was cool of you to do this, Pete," Frank smiled, putting his hands on the ground behind him and leaning back a bit, tilting his face up towards the sun.  
I had to admit, I wasn't surprised that Pete liked Frank. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I found out that everyone at their school liked Frank. He was just too gorgeous to not want to fall in love with.  
"It was cool of you to help me, Frankie," Pete said, looking away. "I don't think I could've asked everyone over if it was just me."  
I kind of flinched at the way Pete called Frank 'Frankie,' but I didn't say anything. I kind of zoned out, searching out Mikey from across the pool. He smiled when I caught his eye and waved.  
I probably wouldn't have come if Pete hadn't invited Mikey too, because Mikey really seemed to be enjoying himself. I was glad that he was getting along with everyone so well, I had been kind of worried since he was so much younger than everyone else, but no one seemed to mind.  
Frank poked me lightly on the shoulder, and I raised an eyebrow, asking "Yes?"  
"You're not going to get in the pool, not at all?"  
I shook my head, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. "No, I'm fine. I'll just sit here."  
Pete was already gone- jumping in the pool, laughing, talking to Mikey; so it was just Frank and I again.  
He reached one hand over, pushing hair away from my face, tucking what he could behind my ears.  
"Let me guess, you just don't want to take your shirt off in front of a bunch of people, right?"  
I laughed, at no one but myself. I felt so foolish sometimes. "Is it that obvious?"  
"To me? Yeah. I don't think anyone else knows though."  
"Okay. That's good, I guess."  
Frank tilted his head at me. "I think you look fine," he said, "no matter what you're wearing or not wearing or whatever."  
I paused for a long minute, not sure what to say. "Thanks," I said eventually. "But I must disagree."  
"Well, I know how beautiful you are, even if you don't."  
I looked at him for a few seconds, studying his eyes and the curve of his nose and the line of his jaw. "Thank you," I said softly. I didn't believe it, not a bit, but I figured he wouldn't give in if I tried to push my side of the debate, and I didn't really feel like arguing, anyway. "Thank you, really."  
"Hey, Frank," Mikey called from the pool. "Come on, we're gonna' have a 'who can make the biggest splash' competition."  
Frank looked at me, lips parting like he was about to say something.  
I just forced a smile and said, "Go on, I don't mind. I'll be the judge," even though I really did mind. I started calculating who'd make the bigger splash based on height and what I guessed their weight was.  
I guessed Ray. I was right.  
\---  
By the time we got home, ate a weak dinner of popcorn and chips, and talked to Mikey about how his day at the comic book store went, it was midnight.  
"Fuck," Frank said, yawning, flopping face-first into my bed. "I'm tired."  
"Yeah, me too," I said, hovering near my bedroom door, not tired at all.  
He rolled over, shifting his way up the bed, stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders. "You coming to bed, Gerard?"  
"In a minute, yeah. You go ahead and go to sleep. It's only Thursday, you still have school tomorrow. Get some rest, I'm gonna' go watch the news, or something."  
Frank frowned, tilting his head. "Is everything okay?"  
"Yeah. Why?"  
"No reason," he said, face confused. "Just- I'm just over-thinking, I guess."  
"Oh," I said quietly, blinking at him. "Okay."  
I left the room, abandoned it for cool tiles and a locked door.  
I didn't know why I went to sit on the bathroom floor, of all places. I guess I could've gone to the living room or kitchen, but the bathroom seemed like a better place because it assured that no one would try to start talking to me if they happened to get up.  
I hadn't just sat on the bathroom floor in a long time. Not since the last funeral I attended, actually. I used to come here a lot to think, if I was too lazy to take a shower, but recently I've decided that people would get annoyed if I just hogged the bathroom and wasn't actually doing anything useful.  
The bathroom floor was a great place to think. The silence gave me a chance to listen to myself, the vacant blankness of it all gave me room to spread the thoughts out and examine each one completely. The brightness of the lights let me clear my mind, the cool tiles beneath me and on my fingertips kept me awake and interested.  
The bathroom floor was a great, spectacular place to think.  
I leaned my back against the wall, letting my head rest against it. I didn't feel well. I wasn't exactly sad, I wasn't angry. There was nothing to be upset about. I think I was just worried about Frank, and how off he'd been seeming lately.  
It wasn't that much of a difference, I don't think Mikey or anyone Frank went to school with noticed, but it was small things that were beginning to stand out to me.  
He would be fine one minute, and then he'd snap at me the next. He'd be laughing, but then become disturbingly serious.  
Something was defiantly wrong, it just wasn't clear to me what it was, yet.  
I stood up, stared at myself in the mirror.  
I realized, blinking at my stupid messy hair and my tired eyes and the jeans that I'd been wearing for two days and my stupid wrinkled shirt with some forgotten band name slapped across the front, that maybe it was me.  
Maybe I was what was wrong. Not what was making him upset, exactly, but I defiantly don't think I was helping.  
I considered talking to him about it, I thought about walking in there and waking him up and asking about it, but there was a knock on the door before I even made up my mind.  
"Gerard?"  
"Frank? Why are you-"  
"I can't sleep without you there. I'm scared."  
I paused for a second, and then unlocked and swung open the door. "Scared?"  
He was holding a pillow, squeezing it against his front like his life depended on it. "Sorry. It's just- it's dark, and I- I think it's raining, and-"  
"It's okay," I said, a bit confused. "I'm coming to bed, I promise."  
He nodded, shifting from foot to foot slightly. "Can I-? Can I have a hug?"  
I blinked a few times in surprise. "You don't have to ask to hug me, Frank."  
He dropped the pillow and latched his arms around me, his face pressing so tight against my shoulder I was sure he would have trouble breathing.  
He didn't seem to mind, though, so I guessed it was okay, and hugged him back, resting my chin on top of his head and curling the fingers of my left hand into his hair.  
"Shh," I said, the sound of my voice quieted by my lips pressed against the top of his head as his tears wet the shoulder of my shirt. "It's okay, Frankie, it's okay..."  
We stood like that for a while, him clinging to me a bit tighter every so often and I just running my fingers through his hair and touching his back.  
"What's wrong?" I whispered, pressing my hand against his shoulder. "Hm?" The same hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Why's my sweetheart so upset?" My fingers tangled into his hair as he leaned away from me, looking up with red eyes and a runny nose and parted lips.  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I- I don't know why-"  
He stared crying again so I didn't try to ask any more questions, I just hugged him again.  
"It's okay," I whispered, closing my eyes and squeezing him tight. "Everything is going to be fine."  
I knew I was lying, and I think he knew too, but it was a nice false hope to have.  
\---  
I fell asleep. I felt like such a jackass, I fell asleep while he was crying and upset and shaking with unexplained tears in bed next to me.  
He was asleep when I woke up, though, at six the next morning. He was holding one of my arms like it was the only thing tying him to reality, my elbow tucked nicely between both of his and all ten of his beautiful fingers tangled loosely with mine.  
I kind of had to pee, but I didn't want to wake him up by accident. I also really wanted to draw him like this, lips parted and eyelashes still wet from crying and hair a complete mess of dark curls pressed into strange angles from the pillow that belonged to me, but seeing it in person and engraving the memory in the back of my mind seemed like a much better choice.  
He had school today; it was Friday, and my mom would be home sometime the next day.  
He also had to meet that friend of his mom's today.  
I couldn't decide if I should make him go to school or let him stay home. Obviously he'd missed so much school lately, and it was all my fault, but I also knew we were nearing summer and his finals had already passed. (Miraculously, he actually did pretty well on them.)  
Maybe he could just skip the last two weeks of school.  
"Gee?"  
My eyes focused on his face, and his nose scrunched up as he frowned at me. "You 'kay?" he muttered, sleepy voice slurring the words.  
"I'm okay," I confirmed.  
One of his hands left mine to touch my face, sloppily pushing hair out of my face, his palm resting flat against my cheek.  
He continued to look at me for a few seconds, and then slowly asked if I had been crying.  
"What?" I asked, confused. "Me?"  
"Yeah," he said slowly. "You look upset."  
I reached the hand that Frank's wasn't holding up to my face and touched my cheek and nose and below my eyes, and was surprised to find the strange, smooth paths of dried tears.  
"I guess I have," I said, confused, not remembering ever crying. I seemed to recall being upset when Frank just kept sobbing, not having a reason for his tears other than "sad," but I didn't realize that I had cried with him.  
"I'm so sorry," he said softly, letting his fingers slip off of my face. "I wish you hadn't cried."  
"I wish you hadn't cried, either," I said back.  
He frowned. "I don't want to go to school today, Gerard."  
"I don't want you to go either, but you need to."  
He sighed. "The only good part of school is that I have Pete to hang out with now and you to come home to."  
I kissed his nose, and he surprised me by tilting his head to catch my lips with his.  
I think I made a small, surprised sound when he kissed me, but he didn't seem to mind, one hand still holding mine and the other skimming down my side, coming to a rest on my hip.  
He ended the kiss with a soft sigh.  
"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I don't know what happened."  
"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry that I didn't know how to help."  
He kissed me again, just for a few seconds this time.  
It was soft, and sweet, and he tasted like cigarettes.  
He spoke almost immediately after our lips parted.  
"I think I love you."  
I blinked at him. "What?"  
He blinked back. "I think I'm in love with you," he said again, sounding so sure of himself.  
I didn't know what to say.  
I felt like I was choking, my stomach dropped, my heart was beating so fast I was sure I was going to have a heart attack.  
Love?  
He thought he was in love?  
With me?  
He wasn't in love, I wasn't, he couldn't be, I knew I wasn't, he just couldn't-  
"Frank," I said finally, my voice strained. "Don't say things you don't mean. You don't, you-"  
"I do," he insisted, looking confused. "Gerard, I'm pretty sure I do-"  
"But I don't," I said, too fast and too angry and not thinking before I spoke.  
I don't know what felt worse, the way I wanted to hurt myself for hurting him, or the expression on his face.  
He looked horrified, he looked so very, extremely fucking hurt.  
He was crying.  
"I'm so sorry," I said, my voice pleading with him. "Frank, I'm sorry, I'm not-"  
He wailed through the tears; a sad, ugly, "Don't," escaping his lips, a terrible noise of distrust and anger and pain.  
They were all very real, very disgusting emotions. Emotions that I had caused him by not saying the six simple words that said that I thought I loved him too.  
He rolled over, flinching away from my touch, and told me to leave.  
He yelled it, shouted it, screamed it from the very top of his lungs, his voice raising through "leave" and cracking halfway through "me" and turning into a raspy sob during "alone."  
And so I stood up. I curled my arms around myself, hugged my own body because he wouldn't let me hug his. I apologized again, and again, and again, until he yelled at me to leave, and I kept saying it, shaking and crying and sobbing; "I'm sorry, Frank, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," over and over and over.  
I felt like I was dying, I felt like I was being stabbed in the heart when he yelled, "Just leave!"  
I stumbled down the hall, just barely catching myself next to the bathroom door.  
I wanted to die.  
I wanted it, I wanted to choke and die or drown and die or get punched to death or hang myself and die.  
I didn't want to feel this sick, I didn't want to feel this guilty, or this confused, or like my heart was going to shove it's way up my throat and spill it's way onto the cold bathroom floor; being dead would be better than this.  
I had just hurt Frank, in the absolute worse way possible, and I felt more like I had killed him, than anything.  
I couldn't say it, I realized as I half-fell into the bathroom, collapsing onto the floor, barely sure that I had even closed the door.  
I wanted to love him, I did, I really thought I did, but love was so painfully strong that I couldn't commit myself to that.  
I didn't like loving things, I didn't want to love people.  
I couldn't even love myself, I was so scared of it.  
I'd loved before, I'd loved and laughed and fallen so sweetly into the emotion that when it was taken away from me, I didn't know how to function. Love is so deep, it's such an intensely powerful part of you, that when something comes in it's way, you feel hollow.  
Having love taken away from you is like someone draining all of your blood and then telling you to make your heart beat; it just didn't work.  
I didn't want to love Frank, because if I lost him, it would feel like dying.  
If I let myself love him, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I would love him with my whole heart, every ounce of my very being, every aching muscle and every blood-filled vein.  
And if someone or something took his love away from me, I would have nothing left.  
I couldn't love Frank because I couldn't give someone that power over my heart, I needed to be in control of my own self, and not let an emotion control me.  
I felt like shit. Absolute shit.  
I didn't like hurting Frank, it made me want to hurt myself.  
I didn't like feeling so guilty for the pain the was evident on his face.  
I found myself staring at my fat legs and somehow bony knees, my too-obvious stomach and my strange hips, my chubby arms and my weird elbows, my stupid hands and my awkward fingers. All of the disgusting features that made me human.  
And it was being human, being a living, breathing human being, who didn't know how to love without the constant fear of being abandoned, that had caused me to hurt Frank like I just did.  
I hated it.  
I hated myself.  
I didn't want Frank to hurt, Frank should never hurt, and he shouldn't suffer, either. I should be taking the weight, the blame, the pain of this, not him.  
He hasn't done anything wrong, I was the one who had screwed everything up.  
He looked like he wanted to die, but hell, I was the one here who should just drop dead.  
I really did feel like I deserved to hurt for what I had just done to him.  
I deserved to hurt, to cry, to be screamed at and yelled at and kicked and hurt and insulted and punished for the pain I had caused him. Heart-break was punishable with death, and I'd just committed first degree murder.  
I stood up and kicked my jeans off, and then stared at my feet and wondered if I was being irational, and then sat back down on the cold bathroom floor, because I decided this was completely rational. My legs were cold and the material of my boxers were not doing much to keep me or the scars that I'd avoided looking at for so long warm.  
I pressed my thumb against my inner left thigh, pulling the fabric up far enough to see the lines that were there, the lines that you could only see from certain angles. They were what I guess you would call "stretch marks," even though I tend to think of them as just disgusting, wrinkled skin. They were lines that the constant weight changes, both loss and gain, had left behind on my legs.  
I closed my eyes, pressing my legs flat against the cold bathroom tile, letting my head hit the wall with a soft thump that felt more like a hammer hit to the head.  
I hadn't felt like this in a while. A long time, really. Not since before Frank left after kissing me for the first time.  
I wanted to die. I honestly believed that dying would be better than what I was feeling at this moment.  
I felt stupid. And disgusting. And like a complete failure. And like I was a fool, and an ass, and a disappointment, and like dying.  
I felt like I'd just ruined Frank's life, like I'd just ripped his heart out and called it ugly, too.  
I felt sick to my stomach, like throwing up.  
I dug my fingernails into my skin, not looking down, keeping my eyes steadily focused on the wall across the room. I thought about the other lines, the non-stretch mark lines that resided on the outsides of my legs, and the state of mind I'd been in when they'd been created, and the state of mind that I was in now.  
There weren't many of those lines. I knew other people had a lot more lines like this than I did; self inflicted scars, skin that wouldn't go back to it's original state after an angry moment's torment.  
I had less than seven on my right leg, I think, seven or eight, but I was hoping for seven, and two or three on my left that I could see from this angle. A lot, lot less than some other people had.  
I didn't count them, they were one of the few things that I couldn't. I wanted to; I really, really wanted to count them, but some were so faded that I couldn't even tell if they were scars or not.  
I wanted seventeen.  
Seventeen or twenty-four or forty-two or maybe just four or eight, but I'd passed both the four and eight marks, and I already had seven, so the closest thing I had was seventeen.  
I think I had a total of maybe ten or eleven, but that didn't mean that at some point, there hadn't been more.  
There had been one time in fourth grade that I'd written some now forgotten word over and over again on my leg until it stood out, puffy and red and angry and innocent.  
Breaking skin with a paperclip hurt like fucking hell, if you were doing it right.  
You had to get just the right angle, dig the metal in every time you pressed down. You had to hit the same spot, over and over.  
It wasn't a clean break, like I assumed any other method of cutting your own skin was. It was making a line; only one at first, a thin red line that stung just a bit. And then, it was tracing the line. It was hitting the line again and again, it was making it sting and sing and scream in the same spot over and over again until it burned. It was hiting the same spot until pieces of your skin tore away, until it was puffy and hurt even if you so much as stretched your leg, and until sometimes, it bled.  
Trying to produce blood with a paperclip? Not an easy job.  
I traced one of the lines with my thumb.  
I missed it.  
I hadn't hurt myself in a long time, I hadn't wanted to in a long time, either.  
I thought about getting up, putting my jeans back on, walking to my bedroom, stumbling to my desk, ignoring Frank crying on my bed. I thought about picking out a paperclip, one that felt right between my fingers. I thought about bending it, in just the right way, to make it easier to hold.  
It wasn't like I was going to actually hurt myself, not tonight.  
I was stronger than that. (I think.)  
I just wanted to feel the cool, sleek, silver form of it beneath my fingers.  
That would be enough, right? To remind myself that I don't need it?  
I was digging my thumbnail into my outer left thigh, sliding it slightly forward.  
Again.  
And again.  
And again.  
It was a weak imitation of forming a scar, but with none of the same mental reactions.  
Scars to me are memories. I want them on my body, to remind myself of how ugly I felt when they were formed. To remind myself of how worthless I am.  
Because really, when it all boils down, what's another scar or two? Just marks on the skin, right? As long as I didn't hurt anyone but myself, what was the trouble?  
There was a light knock at the door.  
"Gerard?" His voice was slurred, thick with tears. "Gerard, you okay?"  
I blinked a few times, staring at my disregarded jeans laying in a sloppy pile in front of me, willing the boy behind the door to go away, wondering why on earth he would ask such a ridiculous question.  
Of course I was okay, of course I was fine.  
He shouldn't have to ask those types of things.  
"Gerard?" There was more knocking on the door. He took a deep breath of air, so sloppy and suffocating that I could hear it. "Can- can we please, just, talk?" There was a short silence, and then he asked me again; "Are you okay?"  
"I'm okay."  
"You don't sound okay," he said, ignoring me. "And I don't feel okay." He knocked once, softly. "So can I come in?"  
"I'm not wearing pants," I mused lightly, digging my thumbnail deeper into my skin.  
"I don't really care. If you're upset, you need me, and I'm upset, so I need you."  
I sighed, letting my head hit the wall. "Frank, okay, whatever. I'm upset. Fine. Just... Let me deal with it, on my own, okay? This entire stupid thing is my fault. I'm sorry."  
The door pushed open to an upset looking Frank. "Yeah, that's not good enough of a 'talk' for me."  
I watched with interest as he sat next to me, politely averting his eyes.  
"Why are you upset?" he asked, looking at the wall across from him.  
I stared at the side of his head. "You're kidding, right?"  
He looked down at his hands, folded up in his lap. "Okay. Stupid question." He cleared his throat. "Whatever."  
I felt exposed, blatantly disgusting, sitting without pants on next to him, the scars on my legs clearly exposed.  
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.  
"I don't think so."  
I found his hand with mine, wrapping my fingers loosely around his.  
"You worry me sometimes," he said quietly, squeezing my fingers. "When you get upset like this."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't- don't be sorry. You don't have anything to be sorry for."  
There was a short, silent moment between us.  
"I'm sorry I can't say it back," I murmured, looking down, ashamed.  
"Don't apologize for that," he said, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "I wasn't really expecting a response. I just thought I should let you know."  
We were silent again.  
"Can I look?" he asked suddenly.  
I blinked a few times. "At what?"  
His eyes met mine. "Your scars. Do you mind?"  
I stared at him. His eyes hadn't focused on my legs, not once that I had noticed. "How did-?"  
He smiled a weak smile. "I caught a glance when I walked in."  
"Oh." I looked away, moving my leg slightly, angling the torn skin at Frank. "Yeah. I guess."  
I watched him study the scars; his fingers flinched in my direction. "Can I-?"  
"Yeah, uh, sure..."  
His fingers skimmed the scars, softly.  
"We match," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head as he studied my skin. "Kind of."  
My hand grabbed his, squishing his fingers.  
It was an instant reaction of emotion in my chest, like someone cut a string that dropped a weight into my heart, and suddenly, I wanted to die again.  
"Frank. Frank, no, please-"  
His other hand covered mine, he held my hand tightly between both of his.  
"Hey, calm down," he said, softly, calmly.  
I was staring at him, his honey hazel eyes, his soft pink lips that I forgot were even capable of frowning.  
Terrible thoughts were running through my head, bad images.  
Frank. Blood. Silver metal, shaking fingers. Scars. Blood. Tears. Scars. Frank.  
"I'm clean," he said, leaning forward, face close to mine. "Hey, don't worry yourself, I'm clean. By a few days. I'm okay now."  
I shook my head, I focused myself in a blank stare at his hands.  
He was crying again, I knew he was, I could see the tears falling.  
I wasn't, not this time. I rarely cried anymore.  
When I'm sad I tend to just stare.  
"Frank," I said, staring at his hands. "I want to see."  
"You asking me to get naked, Gerard?" he said with an upward twitch of his lips, through the tears.  
"I'm asking you to be honest with me," I corrected, not in the mood for games.  
He sighed, but did as I asked. He worked his way out of his jeans, adjusted the fabric of his boxers until I could see the scars in question.  
I felt like throwing up.  
"There's so many," I said, not being able to look away.  
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what I meant when I said we 'kind of' match."  
I felt like crying, but I couldn't do it.  
I just looked away instead. "Why didn't you tell me?" I said, voice quiet and stunned and confused and hollow, just like the rest of me.  
He shrugged, sniffling a bit. "Didn't think it was important."  
I didn't know if I wanted to laugh at the statement or yell at him.  
"Why?" I managed finally, just barely finding my voice.  
He shrugged, leaning back against the wall, and I wiped the tears off of his cheek with the back of my hand. "It's- it's a long story."  
"You're super late for school," I pointed out, glancing at him, feeling the weight in my chest sink a little more. "Just don't go. Talking about this is a lot more important."  
He was quiet for a while, and then sighed, "Okay."  
\---  
We sat outside on the front porch and drank coffee and smoked, and we talked a lot, too.  
"I started when I was fourteen," he said, honey hazel eyes focused on the tip of his cigarette. "I'd heard about it somewhere, like online or in an overheard conversation or something, I don't even remember, but I started to wonder if it would work, to- to make me feel better and stuff. Because it worked for other people, right? It worked for a lot of other people, so I figured it would work for me, too."  
I took a long drag from my cigarette and tried to listen instead of getting upset.  
"And so I went home one night, one night when the name calling and shit with my friends and the arguments with my mom were all really bad, and- and to be honest I don't remember much of it." He closed his eyes, tight, for a few seconds, before forcing them open again. "Just a lot of pain that I wasn't prepared for, and the feeling of wanting to die afterwards." He brought his cigarette up to his lips, breathing in deep, breathing out slow. "I didn't realize I was doing anything wrong. I think I kind of scared myself straight, for a while, because it hurt so much I didn't know why the fuck I was doing it. There was this girl in my gym class, though, she was always covering herself up, and one day the sleeve of her jacket rose up a bit and I saw the scars, and I thought- well, I don't know what I thought. I guess I kind of got mad at myself, because if a girl has that many scars and I have, like, four, well, what type of person does that make me? If this girl who was about half my size and a year younger than me can handle that much pain, why can't I?"  
I wanted to say a lot of things, but I didn't know how to put any of them into words.  
"I started doing a lot of really stupid stuff after that." He took a slow sip from his coffee and cringed a bit at the flavor. "I got really sloppy with it. I stopped caring how much harm I did to myself, as long as it hurt more than it did the last time. There were some nights when I lost so much blood I'm surprised I'm even still alive."  
I took a sip from my coffee, too, burning my tongue but not caring. "Did your mom ever catch on?" I asked, barely finding my voice.  
"No. She found a broken pencil sharpener once and yelled at me for destroying the only one in the house, but she didn't say anything beyond that. I don't even think she noticed that part of it was missing, and if she did, she clearly didn't give a fuck."  
I nodded, lighting my second cigarette and lifting it to my mouth.  
We sat in silence for a few minutes, smoking and sipping our coffee, before I got the courage to speak up.  
"I was either nine or ten," I said. "That was long before it became a habit, before I even knew that I was hurting myself. I didn't comprehend that what I was doing was bad."  
Frank stared at me. "Nine or- or ten?"  
I nodded, looking down.  
"Fuck," he said. "Fucking hell, Gerard. When was that, like, fourth grade? Elementary school?"  
I laughed, a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, it was. I know."  
"What happened?"  
"Sad thing is, I don't even know." I took a long drink from my coffee mug. "I was sitting in my room, organizing things, cleaning it or something, and found a paperclip on the floor, kind of twisted up and shit. It looked sharp, and I felt sad, and- well. I started writing on myself, right? With- with the paperclip."  
Frank looked so confused.  
"Because, if you trace letters on skin with a paperclip enough times, it makes your skin red and puffy and you can actually see it."  
Frank paused before speaking, looking unsure. "What did you write?"  
"I don't remember. Something shitty and sappy, whatever it was. Maybe 'love,' or 'pretty,' or something. I don't know. It was just something I didn't think I had that I wanted."  
Frank's lips parted, like he was going to say something, but instead, he just looked at me for a very long time.  
"Frank?"  
He closed his mouth, and then parted his lips again. "You have both of those things now, Gerard."  
I ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah. I guess I do."  
Frank took a long sip of coffee, so I kept talking.  
"I didn't touch a paperclip with the intentions of hurting myself for a long time after that, not until about a year ago. I'd heard of other people hurting themselves, with, like, blades and stuff, but I didn't like that. Blades and blood are so meaningless." Frank looked distressed, like he wanted to argue, and I ignored it. "What, a piece of metal that's used to shave your face?" I asked, laughing a small, humorless laugh. "Where's the symbolism in that? I never thought about pencil sharpeners, though- shit, that could've been interesting."  
"Symbolism, though?" Frank asked, looking confused and a bit insulted.  
I shrugged. "I don't know why other people do it, but I do it for- for the metaphor."  
Frank shifted around a bit, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Gerard, what are you talking about? There's no metaphor in self-harm, it's not like a fucking art form or anything-"  
"Maybe not to you," I said defensively, "but the metaphor is so obvious to me."  
He didn't say anything, but I didn't expect him to.  
"Paperclips," I said. "It's just- god, it's so fucking obvious, Frankie. It's the best thing I've ever come up with. It's like the poem I've fucking been wanting to write for years, or something- the very things that are supposed to hold my words together, are the things that tear me apart."  
His lips parted, he stared at me for a few seconds. "Gerard," he just said, voice faltering. "That's terrible."  
I shrugged again, looking away. I didn't think it was terrible. I thought it was beautiful.  
It made me feel beautiful.  
"You don't think so?" he realized sadly. "You don't think that that's terrible?"  
"No," I admitted, looking at him, sitting my coffee mug down next to me. "But I have to ask- if you don't do it for the metaphor, then why?"  
He sat his coffee mug down, too. "It's a nice distraction and a good punishment."  
"Punishment?"  
He nodded, and his voice got quiet. "F- for all the shit I screw up."  
I felt my lips part in concern, my face fall slightly in worry. "Frank, you haven't screwed anything up, you're perfect, you shouldn't-"  
"I'm not perfect," he said, suddenly angry. "Okay? Don't say that. I'm not fucking perfect."  
"Yes, you-"  
"No," he said, shaking his head, rolling his eyes. "Don't even fucking start with me, Gerard. You're perfect. I'm just- I'm like a fucking dead leaf, or something, I'm fucking useless, and you're the whole damn living tree, okay? You're-"  
"I'm not perfect," I corrected, raising my voice slightly to be heard over his. "You are. We have two very different definitions of perfect."  
He didn't speak for a second, and then he said, very quietly, the very last thing I wanted to hear at that moment.  
"I love you," he said. "And that makes you perfect, doesn't it?"  
I didn't know how to answer, so I didn't, and he just said, "Yeah, I thought so," and flung his finished cigarette into the yard.  
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm so sorry," I told him, ashamed.  
"Don't," he said, shaking his head.  
"Frank, please, just let me explain-"  
"No, Gerard! There's nothing left to explain. You don't love me, and that's that."  
I wanted to cry. "Frank, please, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, I just-"  
I reached for his hand.  
"Fuck, Gerard-" He looked around, glared at me, glared at my hands, jerked his hands away from mine. "Fuck." He lifted his mug. "Can I throw this? Fuck, I'm gonna throw it."  
I asked him not to. I stood up when he did, told him to stop when he dumped the coffee in the bushes, I held out supportive hands and started crying when he pulled his arm back, lurched when he threw the mug as hard and as far as he could, cringed when it shattered into the driveway.  
Both of his arms dropped down to his sides, and he stood there, breathing heavily, looking at the driveway where the mug had landed.  
"Fuck," he said, clenching his fists.  
I just stared at him, feeling my own hands tremble.  
"Fuck," he said again, turning around, going inside, slamming the door behind him.  
I couldn't stop staring, right at the spot where the back of his head had been when the door had shut.  
"You didn't finish your coffee," I told him, through the door, so quietly I wasn't even sure I heard it myself. I wrapped my arms around myself, lips parting in a struggle for air as the tears clogged my throat. "And that was my favorite mug."


	22. Chapter 22

I don't know what I was thinking, right then, the thoughts were too jumbled to understand. My heart was too broken and my head was pounding too much for me to make sense of anything.  
All I knew for sure, the one thought that stood out to me most, was the fact that Gerard Way didn't love me.  
"Fuck," I yelled, for what felt like the hundredth time, as I stomped into the room that was so much his that it felt like my own personal hell.  
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I should be angry, or disappointed, or if I should cry. I didn't know if I should try to talk to him about it, or if I should beg, or if I should should leave.  
I wanted to curl up right in the center of his obnoxiously warm bed and cry myself to sleep, but I also wanted to scream and yell and rip my own heart out with my bare hands.  
Seeing as I'd never been one to be good at controlling my anger, I started yelling the second I saw him.  
"You're such an asshole, Gerard!" I said loudly, not being able to look at him, turning around and kicking his bed roughly.  
"Frank, this isn't going to change anything, we've gone this long without-"  
"You ruined my fucking life," I snapped at him, kicking his stupid fucking bed again. "Do you know how much time I've wasted on you, on this relationship? You can't just fucking say- you can't, Gerard, you can't. You can't just say that we're going to be okay, because we fucking won't, okay?"  
Hadn't he been the one to start this stupid thing, anyway? Hadn't he been the one to convince me that he was worth it, that we'd fall in love one day?  
Why was it that when that day actually came for us to fall in love, he backed out on me?  
"It's- we can work through this, Frank, can't we just talk about it?"  
"Talk?" I said disbelievingly, spinning to face him. I was clenching my fist so hard I thought I would break my own fingers. "You- you made me think you loved me, and then- then- fuck." I rolled my shoulders, not sure what to do with the anger, not sure what to take it out on or how to get rid of the feelings. "Fuck you," I spat eventually. "You don't just lead someone on like that, you can't do shit like that, Gerard! It hurts, you hurt me."  
His eyebrows pulled together, his mouth formed a frown, but I couldn't watch. I couldn't look at him.  
I broke things. Quite a few things, actually. I broke Gerard's lamp, by accident. I threw a cup of his pencils across his room, I threw sketchbook after stupid fucking sketchbook against the wall, watching the black and white pencil portraits fall to their doom on his bedroom floor.  
He asked me to stop, he was begging me to, but it only made me more angry.  
"I'm not a fucking toy, okay, Gerard?" I snapped, glaring at him. "You can't play with my emotions like that, I'm not an art project so you can't just erase your fucking mistakes, you have to live with those!"  
How long I raged around, destroying things, screaming at him for being such a heartless, ignorant asshole, I don't know, nor do I think is important, but I do know that he was watching me, standing in the doorway separating the rest of the world from his room, crying and holding himself and just staring at me, like I was a hurricane and my hands were the storm that destroyed everything he had ever known and loved.  
"Frank," he begged, voice trembling. "Frank, sweetheart, st- stop, please."  
He looked so stunned.  
"Oh, wipe that stupid fucking surprised look off of your face," I snapped, stomping towards him. "Don't act like you didn't think this whole thing would blow up in your face one day." I put my index finger against his chest, pushing softly. I took a few deep breaths, trying to control my breathing so I could make exactly what I wanted to say clear. "I am a fucking human being, Gerard, and I will fucking react like one. Do you just plan on never falling in love, were you just thinking about living the rest of your life alone? Because I have given you time. I have given you plenty of fucking time."  
He was just staring at me, his lips parted like he wanted to say something he couldn't express.  
"When we started this shit," I said quietly, staring back. "I was the one who couldn't fucking commit because I was scared. But I wanted this, I wanted you, so I stood the fuck up and went for it."  
He was shaking.  
"But when I need you," I said, my voice raising slightly. "When I need you to stop being a damn coward and just accept the emotions you know you have, you just back out on me?"  
He was crying. "I- I'm sorry," he said, hugging himself tighter, taking a slight step away from me, ducking his head in what I hoped was shame. "I'm sorry, Frankie, please, I can't, not yet, I'm sorry-"  
"Don't," I said, shaking my head. "Don't apologize. The damage is fucking done, Gerard. It's done."  
It felt good.  
It felt really fucking good, hurting him, making him see how much he had hurt me.  
He deserved it. I felt like he had been lying to me for the past however-the-fuck-long it was that we had been together, and it hurt, so he deserved to hurt, too.  
I yelled at him again. I screamed and yelled and shouted terrible, cruel things at him.  
When I ran out of things to say, I stopped and stared at the mess I'd made, the objects I'd thrown and the few that had broken, and I wanted to die.  
He didn't love me.  
Oh god, I felt like such an idiot.  
I took one last, solid kick at the pile of blankets in the center of his floor, and yelled at him again. I don't know what I yelled but whatever it was made him let out a small sob.  
I looked up at him, and we met eyes, and I immediately looked away.  
He was still crying, and it made me want to kill myself. I didn't like myself angry, I hurt too many people when I was angry.  
Gerard may not have loved me, but I defiantly fucking loved him; and I couldn't do that to someone I loved.  
I felt like shit.  
I wanted to pick everything I had just destroyed back up and glue everything back into place, I wanted to take back everything I had just yelled at him, I wanted to hug Gerard and tell him that it was okay and that I didn't care if he didn't love me back, that I was his and he was mine and that was all I needed.  
But I also wanted to kick more things and slam his door and leave and go home and kill myself, and I thought about doing exactly that, my methods of self destruction slightly more violent each time I replayed the scene in my head.  
"I'm sorry," I said, instead, sitting on the edge of his bed, covering my face with my hands. I wanted to slit my own throat. "Fuck." I forced myself to take deep breaths. I wanted to lose blood and I wanted lose consciousness and fuck, I just wanted to die. "Oh, fuck. I'm sorry. That was really childish of me, I'm so sorry, Gerard, I didn't mean- Oh, god."  
I looked up at Gerard to see him staring around his room, horrified.  
"M- my room," he said quietly, like he hadn't even heard me speak.  
"I'm sorry," I said again, desperate for forgiveness, wrapping my arms around myself. If he couldn't love me, he could at least not be mad at me. "I'll help clean up, I'll buy you a new lamp, I promise, I'm sorry-"  
"Don't apologize," he interrupted, shaking his head. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, sniffling uselessly. He crossed the room and sat the desk chair I had knocked over back up, sitting down, re-wrapping his arms around himself tightly, mimicking my body language. "You were right, about everything. I deserved it, all of it. I'm sorry."  
I stared at him and he didn't meet my eyes.  
A small part of me wanted to agree with him yell at him some more- this was his fault, this was all his fucking fault, if he just loved me back than neither of us would be hurting right now; and the entire rest of me was too tired to argue.  
I found myself crawling under the covers of his bed, not bothering to try and find the pillows, just draping his blanket over myself and staring at the warm black fabric, my imagination running wild, because maybe, just maybe, I could just press my face against the fabric and suffocate myself to death.  
Gerard didn't love me, anyway, so of course he wouldn't care if I just died right here and now, curled up in his bed.  
I was so tired, but I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to die.  
I was just so done.  
I was so, completely done with Gerard and with trying and with breathing and with hoping, wishing that he loved me.  
Hoping and wishing had never done shit for me in the past, so of course, of course, when I really needed them to work, nothing good came out of it.  
If he didn't love me, why should I even try?  
We'd both be dead, eventually, anyway.  
It's not like it matters too much.  
The bed suddenly sunk, just a little, and my eyes widened. I hadn't heard him stand up.  
"I'm sorry," he said, quiet, not moving the blanket from off of me. He wrapped one arm around my waist, curling himself against the back of my body, the blanket the barrier that kept me from shattering into his arms. "This is all my fault, I know."  
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to cry, but he hugged me closer, so I allowed myself to crack. I allowed myself to cry in the arms of the boy that did not love me.  
Gerard and I didn't speak much, not for hours after that.  
Eventually, I broke the shield of the blanket and rolled myself over, giving in to what my heart wanted, hugging him, pressing my face against his neck and not even caring, then, that he didn't love me back, because his arms keeping me warm felt like love, and his lips pressing against my forehead and his fingers wiping the tears off of my face all felt like love.  
I tested it; "I love you," I said softly, my voice muffled by his shirt.  
His fingers curled tighter into my hair, his arms tightened around my body, his legs pressed closer against mine, and that was enough for me.  
It felt so much like love that I wondered if he did love me, if he was just too scared to say it back.  
Half of me thought that maybe I knew the truth, that he didn't love me and I was just hoping for something that would never happen, and the other half of me wanted to drown the first because it sounded so stupidly convincing.  
"You have to go to your mom's house later," he said, his voice quiet.  
I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "You call it my 'mom's house' like she's the only one who lives there."  
His thumb brushed my cheek. "It's nice pretending that this is your permanent home, I guess."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
I wanted to kiss him, and I wanted to hear him say that he loved me, and I never wanted to go back to my "mom's house" ever again.  
"Maybe we should go eat lunch," he murmured, his lips touching my nose. "I'm kind of hungry."  
"I'm tired," I told him, ignoring his attempt at encouragement. "Can we just lay here for a while?"  
He sighed, but didn't argue.  
I rested my forehead against his chest and lost myself in the sound of his breathing.  
\---  
Things seemed to move in slow motion, but dinner still came way too fast.  
Gerard started to stir about half an hour before I was supposed to be meeting my mom's flavor of the week, and I groaned, rolling over. I hadn't slept at all, I'd ended up just thinking a lot and staring at Gerard's skin for a few hours. Neither of us had moved much, or spoken much, except for when Mikey wandered into Gerard's room to see if we were okay, because he'd heard me yelling earlier.  
"I don't want to go," I said, curling my fingers angrily into Gerard's blanket, watching him sit up.  
"I know," he said, voice sympathetic. "I wish you didn't have to."  
I reached for his hand, my fingers finding his wrist. "Will you go with me?" I begged.  
He sighed. "I doubt your mom wants me there."  
"I don't give a shit." I forced myself to sit up, too, letting go of his wrist and rubbing my eyes. "I'd rather be there with you and piss her off than be there by myself and piss her off. Strength in numbers, and all that shit."  
He reached over, moving my hair around until it fell however he thought looked good, and I didn't argue because if Gerard liked it, I loved it.  
"You look like shit," I observed.  
He shrugged. "I feel like shit, so it's fitting."  
I felt my heart drop, pulling with it a painful breath of air down my throat. "Oh. I'm sorry."  
"It's okay," he said, shrugging again, with only one shoulder this time. "It's my own fault." He stood up, slowly, not meeting my eyes. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna' go check on Mikey."  
I just nodded, standing up as he left the room. I looked down at my clothes, which I reluctantly decided were too wrinkly to be presentable for my mom's standards.  
I made my way over to Gerard's closet and sighed, finding an oversized shirt and a pair of my own jeans on the floor. I didn't bother locking the door, which I realized was probably a shitty mistake when Gerard walked in as I was just pulling my jeans up.  
"Are those yours or mine?" he asked, and I ignored the way his eyes lingered on my ass.  
It was really starting to piss me off, how everything for him was so physical. He couldn't love me, but he could still treat me like a sexual object? No fucking way.  
"Jeans are mine, I think." I tugged the oversized shirt over my head. "Misfits shirt is yours."  
He titled his head. "Are you sure?" he asked, sounding confused, his voice soft. "I thought you left that here?"  
"I'm sure. I don't remember ever buying this."  
"Maybe it was a gift," he suggested, carefully picking up a few of his sketchbooks from where I'd wrecked them. "Because it isn't mine."  
I frowned, sure of myself, and sat on the edge of his bed, watching him carefully reverse part of the mess I had made as I tied my shoes. "I would remember this shirt. It's from the American Psycho tour."  
"And that makes it special..." He placed the collected papers on his desk, glancing at me as he straightened them out. "Why?"  
I stared at him, my lips parting in surprise. "American Psycho is my favorite album, of, like, all time. You know that."  
He shrugged, nonchalant, turning back to his desk. "Whatever. But, that shirt is not mine. I don't even like The Misfits that much. Punk rock isn't my thing. Everyone is too fucking whiny. It's rock n' roll or no rock at all."  
I didn't know how to respond, so I just said, "You don't like The Mistfits? Really?"  
"Really," he said. He then glanced around his room, shifting awkwardly. "Whatever. I'll be in the kitchen, okay? I'll start the coffee. T- take your time, I guess. Yeah. Okay."  
"Okay," I said, keeping my voice quiet.  
It was just a band, I knew, it was just an album, and just a stupid shirt, but it hurt to hear him say all of those things, because The Misfits and that album and even the fucking shirt that now felt suffocating, they all meant something to me, and he knew that, he'd heard me talk about how much I loved that band and that album and how much the music meant to me, he fucking knew it, and he didn't seem to care.  
"Fuck," I muttered, kicking a shirt that was laying on the ground, angry again. "Fuck him."  
\---  
The coffee, burning my fingers through the flimsy plastic cup, was the best part of the walk to my house.  
Gerard and I walked side by side on the walk to my house, but he kept a fair distance from me.  
I managed not to say anything, until we were turning the corner that led to the street my house was on.  
"I swear to god," I said, glancing at Gerard. "If we start arguing or something in front of my mom, everything is going straight to hell. You know that, right?"  
"I know that," Gerard said, frowning. "What makes you think we're going to start arguing?"  
"I don't know," I snapped. "Maybe it's your pissy attitude."  
"My pissy attitude?" he asked, sounding shocked. "Frank, maybe you should listen to yourself speak sometimes, ya' know?"  
I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to yell and push and shove and scream at him to get the fuck away from me, because he had led me on for so long, he'd made me think that he was just as in love as I was, only to tell me that he wouldn't, he couldn't be in love with me.  
But I kept my mouth shut. I drank the last of my coffee and let it scorch my throat as we made our way down the road.  
We walked in silence, for the rest of the walk, so I started texting out of boredom.  
I texted Mikey that I was sorry about all the yelling and that I'd talk to him about it later.  
I sent Pete a text that said "I miss you."  
He responded promptly with "I miss you too." There was a short pause, and then another text asking how Gerard was.  
I blinked rapidly, not knowing how to answer. I glanced over at the boy in question, who was staring at his shoes as we walked, sipping at his coffee.  
It took me forever to decide what to text.  
>Not a good subject right now.<  
There was another pause, but his answer was short.  
>Want to talk?<  
I sighed.  
>Come to my house tomorrow? Noon? Pizza, soda, and a discussion about how much my life sucks.<  
His answer was almost enough to make me smile.  
>I'll be there.<  
I put my phone back in my pocket, satisfied. I needed someone to talk to, about all of this, and if I tried to talk to Gerard I would probably just end up snapping on him, so Pete seemed like a good person to turn to. It was either him or Mikey, but I didn't think Mikey would want to hear about his brother's lack of a love life.  
When we got to my house, the door was unlocked, so I didn't bother knocking- because this was still my house, after all; and Gerard and I made a beeline for the kitchen, where we could hear my mom talking to someone.  
"Mom?"  
She was pulling something out of the oven, a man I didn't know leaning against the counter near her. He was dressed in what I assumed was "business casual," with new looking jeans and a nice blue shirt, much more official looking than I'd ever bothered to dress. He looked kind of like the type of guy that worked at a computer company, or something- nice shoes and nice glasses and a relaxed but still professional style, and something about him fit so well in my kitchen, like he'd been there before, that it kind of weirded me out. I'd never seen the man before in my life; it pissed me off that he looked better and more at home in my house than I did.  
At the sight of unfamiliar faces, the man stood up straight, offering Gerard and I a smile that crinkled the skin near his eyes, and surprisingly, any sense of intimidation faded. It seemed like a really genuine smile, like this guy was actually happy to see me, which was not the welcome I normally experienced when entering my own home.  
"You must be Frank," the man said, holding out his hand. I shook his hand, not expecting someone who was dating my mother to be so polite. "My name is Henry."  
Henry glanced over at my shoulder at Gerard, keeping the friendly, loose smile, which just barely helped to calm my nerves. "And who is this?"  
I cleared my throat, awkwardly scooting to the side, watching as Gerard introduced himself as, "A friend of Frank's," and shook Henry's hand, and told Henry how much of a pleasure it was to meet him.  
I kind of felt inferior, because somehow Gerard was incredibly good at being polite, but I decided to ignore it, because Gerard was smiling whereas fifteen minutes ago he'd been majorly upset, and I preferred him happy than sad, even if it did kind of make me feel like shit. Happy Gerard and shitty-feeling me always worked out better in the end.  
My mom was done moving things and food around, evidently, so she turned to me, nodding. "You cut your hair. I like it."  
I moved myself closer to Gerard, suddenly wanting to run.  
My mom? Liking my hair? And bringing home such a friendly guy? Either the world was about to explode, or someone was pulling a terrible prank on me.  
"Dinner's ready," she said, glancing between Gerard and I. She faltered for a moment. "I'll- I'll go get an extra chair for Gerard."  
Gerard and I shared a look as my mother left the kitchen, Henry following close behind.  
"So?" Gerard asked quietly, once he was sure Henry's curly head of brown hair had disapeared into the other room. "What's your first impression?"  
"Well," I mumbled, glancing at the kitchen door. "He seems nice enough. But I don't know yet. Mom is acting..."  
"Polite?" Gerard suggested, making me laugh a small, humorless laugh.  
"I was going to say 'unnatural,' but yeah, it's the same thing, for her."  
Gerard laughed a humorless laugh, too. "Give it a chance," he suggested, touching my arm for a fleeting second, before dropping his hand instantly. "Relationships work funny like that sometimes. Sometimes it takes a while to get used to the situation."  
I stared at him, because it felt like he was talking about us, not my mom and Henry, and he just looked down at his shoes.  
"Boys?" my mom called from the dining room. "Dinner is waiting."  
\---  
Gerard was right, about giving it time, because Henry turned out to be okay. He talked a lot about himself, but not in the stupid, "Oh, look at how much more important my life is than yours," way, but in the really cool, really nice, "I'll answer any questions you ask honestly, because I want you guys to know who I actually am, and I'll ask questions back because I'm not an asshole adult and I remember what it was like to be a teenager who secretly wants people to know how cool they are," way.  
My mom was so relaxed during the entire dinner that it kind of threw me off. It didn't take long before I realized that a lot of it was because Henry was there. Every once and a while she would say something that sort of made me feel like shit, like when she pointed out that my hair was still a little too long, and like when she mentioned how maybe Gerard should consider cutting his hair, too, and like how she mentioned next year I totally could not miss twenty-eight days like I had this year, but it never got too bad because soon after she started saying something to Henry or smiling at something Henry had said, completely dropping the subject.  
I hadn't seen my mom laugh like that in a long, long time. Not at anything. It was a little weird, at first, but after the first half hour or so of conversation, I eased into it, and I was actually really enjoying myself.  
Gerard being there helped a lot, because he noticed when I got nervous about things and helped change the subject, or pressed the side of his foot against mine, and he seemed to have forgiven my mom for being rude about his OCD, which, to my surprise, he openly discussed with her when she brought it up.  
How they even got started on the conversation, I don't know, because I was answering Henry's questions about school and what classes I was taking, but when I turned to ask Gerard to pass the bowl of mashed potatoes, he was explaining carefully to my mom about the medications he was taking for his OCD.  
"Wait," I said, making Gerard pause. "I didn't know you were on medication for your OCD."  
He shrugged shyly, glancing at Henry and then back at me. As his body tensed up, I realized that I probably shouldn't have jumped into the conversation, and I was about to tell him that it didn't matter that he hadn't told me, when he answered; "I don't always take it when I'm supposed to and when I do you just happen to be at school or something."  
I frowned. There were a lot of questions that I wanted to ask, but not in front of my mom or a guy that we had just met, like, an hour ago.  
"I have OCD, too," Henry said suddenly.  
I turned to him, blinking in surprise, and Gerard said, "Really?"  
Henry nodded, seeming so nonchalant about a subject that made Gerard so nervous.  
"I don't take any medication for it," he said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose in a way that kind of reminded me of Mikey. "But there's certain things that really bother me." We all just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "Like, folded pages in a notebook?" he said, shrugging easily. "Those have to be ripped out. But notebooks with pages ripped out? Those can't be used."  
Gerard nodded quickly, his body relaxing a bit. "I know exactly what you mean. Do you do the whole 'one subject per notebook' thing too?"  
Henry nodded, offering Gerard a small smile. "Yeah, I do, actually. I find it really hard to put more than one thing per notebook. It doesn't feel organized to me."  
"Even with art," Gerard said, returning the easy smile. "Like, a lot of people think it's stupid because it's all, just, yknow, art, but I have to have one notebook for writing, and doodles on their own sheets of paper in a folder, and then like I have notebooks just for drawing certain people or things."  
"Certain people?" my mom said, interrupting. "Like, a single notebook per person?"  
Gerard nodded. "Yeah."  
"You either must have a lot of notebooks, or you just draw the same people over and over."  
Gerard paused for a moment before answering, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. I looked away.  
"I tend to draw the same people," he said eventually. "My mom and little brother, and other family, and- well, Frank lets me draw him sometimes when I'm bored."  
I chuckled, only because I knew he was completely lying. He didn't just 'sometimes' draw me, he had an entire notebook filled with sketches of my face and my hands and my neck, pages covered in his attempts to draw the curve of my shoulders "just right," and the dip of my collar bones "nearly perfect."  
"I'd love to see some of your art sometime," my mom said, politely.  
Gerard blinked a few times in surprise. No one else noticed, but the way his eyebrows twitched slightly together, wrinkling the skin between them, and then quickly relaxed again, showed his indecision. Then he said, "Uhm, sure, okay. I'll- I'll bring a few sketches next time I see you, I guess," nervously.  
My mom smiled, a real, genuine smile, and Gerard allowed himself to smile back, and for the first time in a long time, I felt okay.  
Not great, not brilliant; but I felt like I had a family. A really, really shitty, dysfunctional family, without a dad, but a family all the same.  
I had a mom who was suddenly being normal, a guy who was surprisingly nice and friendly as a new friend who just happened to be something more to my mom, and a brilliant boy who could eventually be part of the family by marriage was sitting next to me.  
We fell into easy conversation, after that, and it was nice. Gerard opened up a lot more after that, having OCD in common with Henry and knowing now that he could talk about his art freely, because people were actually interested in it, and I actually found myself talking more, too. I told my mom how I was really enjoying staying at Gerard's house, and how Gerard and I had discussed becoming 'roommates' one day, and I was pleasantly surprised when she nodded and said that that was definitely a possibility for the future. Even though she didn't know the whole truth of mine and Gerard's friendship, it didn't matter to me. I had this stubborn, stubborn woman's approval, and that was all that mattered.  
"Do we have ice cream?" I asked suddenly, when the table fell silent for a moment.  
My mom paused, looking at me. "I don't think so."  
I blinked a few times. We used to eat ice cream a lot when I was younger, just my mom and I, before she turned into a total bitch.  
"Could we get some?"  
My mom glanced at the table before looking at me again, and then she glanced at Henry and Gerard. "Now?"  
I shrugged. "I dunno. Is that an option?"  
She pressed her lips tightly together and I prepared myself to be shouted out.  
"Ice cream sounds wonderful," Henry said, smiling.  
My mom's mouth opened, like she was going to protest, and then shut again. She let out a long sigh. "I'll go to the store right now." She forced a smile. "Ice cream sounds wonderful, I suppose, and it'll give you boys a chance to talk." She stood up. "Any flavor requests?  
We pretty much all agreed on chocolate.  
As soon as my mom was gone, I made up an excuse to get Gerard into the kitchen, saying we were both thirsty, and Henry just nodded, retreating to the living room with his own can of soda.  
"So?" Gerard said, leaning against the kitchen counter, placing his hands on the cool white marble on either side of him. "What's up?"  
"I'm not sure," I said, sighing, opening the fridge and examining it's contents. I wasn't even hungry, I just needed an excuse to get away from Henry for a minute to talk to Gerard. "He seems really nice, and my mom seems to be happier-"  
"And nicer."  
"-and nicer, when she's with him."  
"So?" Gerard said again, as I leaned into the fridge, wrapping my fingers around a can of freezing soda. I handed Gerard a Dr. Pepper, which he rested in the pocket of his jacket.  
"So, what?" I said back, leaning back out of the fridge. I glanced at him, letting the refrigerator door swing shut. He looked disappointed. "What's that face for?"  
He smiled, laughing softly. "Your ass looked nice from that angle, you should bend over like that more often."  
I rolled my eyes, popping open my Pepsi in one swift motion. "You're talking about my ass," I pointed out obviously.  
"And?"  
I took a long swig from my soda. "You don't love me," I said, like that should explain everything.  
I couldn't bring myself to look at him.  
He sighed, quietly. "That doesn't mean that we can't be in a relationship still."  
I rolled my eyes again, leaving the kitchen, suddenly very sad.  
I'd found, recently, that I'd been turning every ounce of depression into anger- except for last night, when I fell asleep crying in bed next to Gerard. But at this particular moment, I just wanted to punch the shit out of something.  
Gerard sighed loudly, following me down the hall that was lined with pictures of my mom and I, and of my dad and other of family members that I hadn't seen in years.  
"Frank," he said, as I ignored him. "Frank," he repeated.  
I kept walking, but he caught my arm, dragging me into a stop in the middle of the hall.  
I turned around, sighing at him. "What do you want, Gerard?"  
He caught my face between his hands, forcing me to look up at him, and I held my Pepsi closer to my body as he got closer, too.  
"I'm sorry," he said, meeting my eyes. His thumb brushed my cheek lightly. "Just give me a little bit longer, okay?"  
I turned my head, just a bit to the left; not to get away from him, but to press his warm fingers closer against my cheek.  
"How much longer do you need, Gerard?" I asked roughly. "I can't wait on you for the rest of my life."  
He kissed me, softly. It was the first time he'd ever kissed me in my own house. When our lips parted, he rested his forehead against mine. "I'd wait for you," he said, soft, sweet, making me feel guilty. "I'd wait for you forever, if you asked me to. 'Till death do us apart."  
I stepped away from him, clutching my soda tightly. "Come on," I said, not looking at him and his stupid messy hair and his stupid beautiful jawline and his annoying perfect nose. He was too fucking cute for his own good. "Let's go back in there before Henry starts suspecting something."  
Gerard nodded, pausing for a second. "So- so you'll wait?"  
I didn't nod back, looking at the silver top of my Pepsi instead, suddenly interested in the cool gleam of the sharp edge of it's top. "I'll wait but only because there's no way in hell I'm letting you go. But-" I sighed, placing my finger on the edge of the top of my soda can, tracing the silver circle. "I think I'm going to sleep here for a few nights."  
His face fell. "But Frank-"  
"Gerard, just-" I paused, angrily. "It's just a few nights, okay? And it's not just because I'm mad at you, or anything, there's other reasons, too, I-"  
"It's okay," he said, looking at his feet. "Whatever."  
I looked down the hall, in the general direction of the living room. "Henry is probably wondering if we fell into the fridge."  
Gerard just nodded, following me into the living room.  
"I don't get what you see in my mom," I said to Henry as we approached him. I sat on the couch next to Gerard. Misjudging the distance between us, my thigh pressed warmly against Gerard's, and his hand slimmed softly over my knee. I glanced first at him, but he kept his eyes focused on his can of Dr. Pepper, and then I glanced at Henry, who didn't seem to notice, and then I decided to stare at a wall on the other side of the living room. "No offense," I said quickly. "But it just seems like you could do a lot better than her."  
"I think she's a wonderful person," Henry said, holding his soda in one hand, leaning back slightly in his chair.  
"Really?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "You and her... You don't exactly seem similar."  
Henry shrugged easily. "You and Gerard don't exactly seem similar."  
Gerard's jaw tensed in shock, and mine slacked in surprise.  
I suddenly felt like I was going to pass out.  
"But we're just friends," I said, trying to make myself sound offended. "We're not-"  
"Frank," Henry said, slowly. "I saw you guys in the hallway, I was going to get a second drink, and-"  
"Fuck," was all I could bring myself to say.


	23. Chapter 23

Henry didn't seem to understand what the problem was.  
"Fuck," Frank repeated, his eyes wide. "Oh my god, shit, you- you won't tell my mom, will you-? Oh, god," he looked at me and I just looked back, not knowing how to react. "Oh fuck."  
Henry knew.  
He saw us. He saw me, he saw Frank, he saw us kiss. He heard us talking.  
He knew.  
I felt like I was going to pass out.  
Henry spoke up, after what felt like an eternity of me wanting to spontaneously burst into flames, frowning, saying, "Hey, hey, Frank, Gerard, it's okay, guys. I won't tell her if you don't want her to know."  
Frank and I both looked at him. "Do you promise?" Frank said, sharply and quickly, before I could.  
Henry nodded, raising his hands slightly in a sign of what I hoped was a truce. "I promise."  
We both relaxed, but only slightly.  
Henry frowned more. "She really doesn't know?"  
Frank shook his head quickly. "She- she doesn't even know, uh- she doesn't know about either of our's sexuality."  
No one spoke for a few minutes, and then Henry asked, slowly; "Why haven't you told her, Frank?"  
Frank shrugged, not looking at Henry, or at me. "I'm scared of how she'll react."  
I gestured vaguely to Henry with one hand, curling the fingers of my other hand tightly around my Dr. Pepper. "He reacted fine," I said, speaking up. "My mom reacted fine. My little brother, Pete, all your friends at school, they reacted fine, didn't they?"  
Frank squirmed a bit, rolling those honey-hazel eyes of his. "That's not the same, Gerard, can we just talk about it later?"  
"Why can't we talk about it now?"  
He glanced across the room at Henry. "Just- please, Gerard."  
"Fine," I said, sighing. "Whatever. We'll talk about it later."  
The three of us fell into silence.  
Henry stood up and excused himself to the kitchen.  
"Mikey and your mom reacted fine because they already knew about your sexuality," Frank said, suddenly, as soon as Henry was out of the room. "Pete was okay with it because he's not straight, anyway, and the other guys at school were okay with it because they all already knew that Pete isn't straight, so there wasn't much new about me."  
"But...?"  
Frank was looking at his can of Pepsi, staring at it like the page of a book, like it was suddenly the single most interesting object in the whole entire world. "But my mom is one of those people who makes jokes about stuff like that," he told me. "She makes lesbian haircut jokes and she laughs at gay guys like they're a joke, too. It's so stupid. I think she thinks anyone who likes someone of the same gender is instantly an idiot. What if she- well."  
"What if she makes jokes about you, too?" I asked, finishing his sentence.  
Frank glanced up at me sadly, nodding. "What if she hates me for who I choose to love?"  
I sighed at his choice of wording. "Frank, your mom doesn't approve of a lot of things you do and say..."  
Frank laughed a dry laugh. "I've noticed."  
"Yeah. But, well- why let this be the line at which she breaks you? Why are you letting your sexuality be the point at which what she says finally gets to you?"  
He turned his head and I was left staring at the back of his head for what felt like the millionth time.  
"Gerard," he said, voice trembling slightly. "She's always gotten to me, about everything. She makes me hate myself; she makes me want to die."  
I chewed the inside of my lip for a few seconds. "Why are you sleeping here the next few nights, then? If you don't like her, I mean?"  
He paused for a long moment, and I stared at him, at his soft, curly mop of black hair, but he just kept looking away.  
"Frank?"  
"It's not important," he said, eventually.  
We stopped talking after that.  
\---  
I went home alone.  
I'd stood with Frank on his front porch- "Your mom can't see us, Frank," I assured him, when he denied kissing me goodnight.  
He put his hands on my chest, the tips of his fingers touching my collarbones, and I sighed as he glanced at the window nearest us and said, "We don't know that for sure," and just hugged me instead, his cheek pressing against my neck, mine against his hair.  
It was the first time in a long time that I'd entered my own home without either Frank already being there, or Frank trailing close behind me, and Mikey noticed that, too.  
My brother didn't say anything when he opened the door, though, holding it open a bit too long in confusion, not understanding when Frank didn't follow me in.  
He didn't say anything when I helped him do the laundry and my fingers shook when I tossed Frank's clothes into a sloppy pile next to my bed, where the ever-permanent pile of blankets seems to remain, for those times when we get lazy and fall asleep next to each other on the floor. Mikey didn't say anything when I sat curled up in the hallway, my back against the wall and my knees pulled up to where I could use it as a platform for my sketchbook.  
Mikey didn't say a thing when he sat next to me, watching me draw. He didn't speak when he rested his head on my shoulder, studying my pencil as I sketched a rough image of Frank's fingers clutching a can of Pepsi between his knees.  
"Where is he?" Mikey asked, quietly, between long, thin lines of my pencil.  
"Home."  
And then I started crying.  
My little brother wrapped his arms around me, the first hug we'd shared in a while.  
"Are you okay?"  
I shook my head, weakly. "I think I screwed things up, Mikey," I admitted, my voice cracking a bit. "I think I screwed up bad."  
He hugged me tighter. "Does this have something to do with what he was yelling at you about earlier today?"  
I nodded my head. "Yeah. It does."  
He sighed. "He's not going to leave you, Gerard."  
I squeezed my eyes shut, tight, so tight they watered and hurt. "How do you know that?"  
"Because he loves you," Mikey said simply. "And nobody just abandons someone they love as much as Frank loves you."  
I thought about it for a few minutes, and then hugged Mikey back.  
"I love you, big bro," he said, surely.  
"I love you too, kid."  
We both leaned out of the hug and he looked down at my sketchbook on the floor. "You need to get into this stuff professionally," he said, taping the page. He looked up at me and tilted his head slightly. "Hey," he said, when I didn't look at him. "Everything is gonna' be okay, Gerard, I know you guys can work through whatever it is that's happening right now. You two- you guys- you deserve to be happy. You should both be happy."  
He faltered for a moment, and I looked over at him, remembering suddenly how I felt when I was his age; I was terrified, and confused, and growing up way too fast...  
I wondered suddenly how Mikey's life had been lately. He didn't go to school a normal school, like other kids, and he didn't get out much, but did he have any friends? Did he have crushes, did he have people he didn't like? Did he have friends and enemies and acquaintances?  
Who was my little brother, as of recently?  
He knew quite a bit about my personal life, but what did I really know about his?  
I realized as he smiled, tightly, the look not quite brightening his eyes behind his glasses like I knew it should, that my little brother was growing up, and I hadn't been around much to see it, as of recently. The slight, tired, dark circles beneath his usually happy eyes and his crooked glasses and his not-quite-there encouraging smile, his messy hair and his slowly tiring voice, all told me one thing that I fucking hated to admit.  
Mikey was growing up.  
He wasn't a kid anymore, I could no longer guess his emotions with one glance... No, he was far more complex than that, suddenly, and I had no idea how to process this startling information.  
He'd kept more to himself, recently- or had I just been pushing him away? He didn't come to me for advice like he used to, so he must be learning on his own- or maybe he just didn't care for what I had to say?  
I didn't know what to think about him, anymore.  
Was he doing okay? Was he happy? Was my little brother the same kid he was yesterday?  
I could be related to a stranger and I might not even realize it.  
Mikey stood up suddenly, and held out his hand, offering to help pull me to my feet, too, but I shook my head.  
"I'm gonna sit here and draw some more," I said, as I decided to sketch Frank while I considered my shockingly grown up little brother.  
He nodded, seeming to understand as I lifted the sketchbook to my lap, shooting straight into a new drawing on a new page, my head down and my fingers gripping my pencil tightly.  
"You look like you're in for a long night," Mikey said, as he walked towards the kitchen, his sudden maturity finalized by one offer; "Coffee?"  
He somehow understood the slight nod I gave, the slight flick of the eraser of my pencil in his direction, and brought me a fresh mug of hot coffee a few minutes later.  
He ruffled my hair quietly, walking around me and into his bedroom, and I watched in awe as my not-much-younger brother left his door open, which was something he never did, but he turned off his light, a signal that he was going to bed.  
It was like he was just trying to show that he was still here, if I needed him, even though he was asleep.  
That, I realized, as I sketched the curve of Frank's left shoulder and the dip of his collarbone for the millionth time, was what true love was, even if it was just as simple as your little brother showing that he was there to comfort the complete wreck he had grown up with.  
True love was leaving the door open for someone just in case they need you, even if it could interfere with whatever you'd rather be doing right then. True love was understanding that the flick of a pencil meant "Yes, please, thank you, friend." True love was still caring for someone, even if they hadn't exactly been there for you as often as they should.  
True love, I told myself, as I slid my closed sketchbook under my mattress, leaving my bedroom door cracked and Frank's side of the bed empty, was waiting for someone, even if you didn't know if they would come back or not.  
\---  
I woke up to Frank's side of the bed still empty.  
I didn't sleep well. (I slept horribly, actually, and I woke up at six in the morning, as always.)  
Mikey was still asleep, but his door was closed; I noticed the same thing about mine. I paused, wondering if he'd gotten cold in the middle of the night and closed it, the draft sending mine shut too, but when I heard humming from the kitchen and the gentle swish of a skirt brushing the kitchen floor, I understood.  
"Ma?" I said, sleepily, making my way into the kitchen.  
She looked up, grinning, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. The skin beneath her eyes was tired, her cheeks too pale for the woman I knew, but her smile made up for it, her red lipstick and warm brown eyes and the pancakes on the stove and the pack of cigarettes on the counter next to her all showed that she was okay.  
"Hey, kiddo," she said.  
I hugged her- I was in a hugging mood, I suppose; and my mom hugged me back. "Mikey still asleep?" she asked.  
"Yeah," I confirmed. "But he's earned it."  
"Oh?"  
I nodded. "He finished all the schoolwork you left for him a day or two early. That's, like, all he's done this week. Schoolwork."  
"Really? What about you, did you finish your work?"  
I smiled sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes.  
"You're going to run your work into the summer," she scolded, though I knew that she knew that I could get it done.  
"How was Aunt Marie?"  
"Okay," my mother said, nodding. "Doing better, slowly but surely..." She smiled. "Oh, gosh, she and Lizabeth are quite the pair."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah," she confirmed. She glanced over my shoulder. "Speaking of pairs, where's Frank? You two were practically attached at the hip when I left."  
I faltered. I didn't know what to say or how much to say. "Frank isn't here, uh... He's at home, I mean, he's-" I sighed. "He's not here."  
My mother frowned. "Did something happen, is everything okay?"  
I faltered. "Well- I don't know, Ma." I focused my eyes on the pancakes she was sliding onto a plate. "I don't know what happened."  
I was pulled instantly and fearlessly into another hug.  
"Tell me everything," my mother said, pulling out of the hug, turning to the kitchen counter suddenly. She sent me a look. "Sit at the table, dear, I'm fixing coffee. Talk to me."  
I sat down and talked to her.  
"I don't know exactly what happened," I started, not sure exactly what to tell her. I decided to just start at the beginning. "But, uh, yesterday- well, yesterday, Frank told me that he loves me, right? And, I- I didn't say it back." I paused, and felt ashamed. I felt like I needed to explain myself, like I was a kid who had been caught stealing from a cookie jar. I felt so guilty. "Because I just- I can't, y'know? I'm-" I paused, and then said, a bit firmer: "I can't and won't say it until I'm ready, and I'm not ready, not yet. I don't know how to put the feelings into words yet." I couldn't look at my mom, because I didn't know how she would react to her oldest son talking about his mixed emotions on his and his boyfriend's relationship. "I just can't do something like that," I said, looking down. "Not this soon and not this sudden. I almost said it once, like, the day before yesterday, I think, actually... But I stopped myself, and- I dunno. I think I regret not saying it. But- I think I regret it, but... I don't know, Ma... I just don't know... He's just really upset that I didn't say it back, though, and-"  
I pressed my face into my hands.  
"Oh, god, he was so fucking upset."  
I took a few deep, shuddering breaths, and tried to calm my speeding heart.  
I counted my breaths, up to four, down to one. Up to four, down to three, two, one, up to two, three, four, down to three, two one...  
I peeled my fingers away from my face. "We had dinner at his mom's house last night," I continued. "Well, his house, whatever. And he stayed there. He said he wanted to sleep there the next few nights, and I don't think he had any intentions of seeing me today." I sighed. "I don't think he wants to see me at all, actually."  
My mom was silent for a long moment, and then said, suddenly, "Well? Do you?"  
"Do I what, want to see him? Of course I do."  
"Well, of course you want to see him, Gerard," she said, and I could practically feel her roll her eyes from across the room. "But do you love him?"  
I faltered at that, not sure. And so I told her that, I said, "I'm not sure," and sighed heavily.  
"You're not sure, or you're scared to be honest?" she retorted quietly.  
I met my mother's eyes, and wondered what she saw when she looked at me. Did she see an honest boy? Or did she see the coward that I know I am?  
"I'm scared to be honest," I confessed. I looked at my hands, and felt like throwing up. I hated myself so much. I hated these emotions, the goddamn emotions that made me need him, the hurt and pain and want and need and aching, aching attachment that I felt with Frank, that I had only rarely felt before in my life. And I hated it, because every time I felt these same emotions, I ended up getting hurt somehow. "With myself and with him."  
"What are you scared to tell Frank?"  
I laughed a dry laugh, one that made my eyes sting, like I was going to cry. "I can't tell you that."  
"Why not?"  
"Because I'm scared of admitting to Frank what I'm scared of admitting to myself."  
"Telling me your fear doesn't mean that you have to face it," she said, softly, and again, I couldn't bring myself to look at the woman who had raised me.  
I was crying. And laughing.  
I was laughing at my own tears, crying at the stupidity in my own sense of humor. "I'm so stupid," I said, shaking my head. My mom didn't seem to understand. "I'm such a fucking coward." I cracked a real, genuine smile, which made my fingers trembled as I realize that I must look insane, tears staining my cheeks and my lips pulled back in a crooked smile. "Aren't I, Ma? Your baby boy is a coward."  
"You're not a coward, Gerard," she said. She sounded concerned, but I stopped listening.  
I stopped listening, because the voices in my own head wouldn't shut up.  
You're a coward, they said, and I wanted to scream. You're an idiot, Gerard, you're such an ignorant boy. I know, I fucking know I am... Frank loves you, you dumbass, and you love him back, don't you?  
I suddenly had the strong urge to jump off of a cliff.  
I stood up and excused myself to my room. My mom didn't try to follow.  
I didn't know what to do, but I was upset, so naturally, I called Frank.  
"Hello?" he answered slowly, voice tired.  
"Hi."  
He didn't answer for a second, and then, slowly; "Gerard?"  
I sat on the edge of my bed and swung my feet back and forth, feeling like a little kid, but with a giant, empty hole in the center of my body, where my heart should be. "Yeah." I took a slow, deep breath of air, and wiped the tears off of my face. "Hey."  
I heard him sigh. "Hey. Wh- what's up?"  
"Nothing," I said into the too-cold cellphone as I held it closer to my face. I stared at my sock-clad feet as I swung them. My chest felt heavy, like the world was quicksand I was sinking. "I miss you," I confessed, and felt like crying, because I suddenly needed him more than I had needed him in a very long time. I needed his arms around me and his lips on my neck and his hair beneath my fingers, and it hurt, it ached, not having him next to me.  
He sighed again, though, oblivious to the pain that was taking over my entire body. "It's been, like- like-" he paused. "Like, less than twelve hours since we last saw each other, I think, Gerard."  
"Yeah?" I said, tears pricking at my eyes again. "So?"  
It took him two seconds too long to respond. "It's six twenty-nine in the morning, is there a reason you called me?"  
I didn't know how to respond, so I just repeated, "I miss you."  
His voice was soft when he spoke. "I miss you, too."  
"Come over, then?"  
It took him forty-three seconds exactly to respond, and I wondered what he was thinking about, and where he was sitting, and if he looked as sleepily adorable as he sounded. "I can't."  
"You can't?"  
He faltered. "Well, I- I can't. Pete is coming over, and Henry is still here, and-"  
"Oh." I closed my eyes for a second the weight in my chest sinking further. "It's okay," I said, struggling to speak. "Pete is coming over. That's okay. Whatever. Never mind."  
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gerard, I just-"  
"Don't apologize," I told him, quietly, feeling sorry myself. "Please don't." He made a tired sound and I frowned. "Did I wake you up?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.  
"Kind of, yeah."  
"Oh. I'm sorry."  
"S'okay... I should- I should go back to bed, though... I'm still tired."  
"Oh. Okay."  
He paused. "B- bye, Gerard." There was a short silence. "I love you," he said, carefully, timidly.  
I closed my eyes and took a slow, painful breath of air. "I know you do, sweetheart. I know..."  
He made a soft, sad, lonely sounding noise, and then hung up first.  
I turned off my phone and tossed it on the bed, sadly, deciding then to make my way to the bathroom.  
Once there, I turned the shower water on hotter than comfortable, stripped myself of clothes, and held my breath, wondering if I could suffocate myself with a towel. (For the record, I tired; my body panicked and would not allow myself to do so, no matter how hard I fought, and I ended up crying into the towel instead of dying.)  
I bathed, washing myself, tiredly, washing my hair and my body and then failing at an attempt to scrub all of the bad thoughts away.  
Three hours later and my back was sticking to the bottom of the tub with warm water. I'd considered drowning myself, which turned into me laying down with the water spraying my legs, my head sitting lightly against the edge of the tub, as I realized that I didn't want to drown myself while my mom and brother were in the house.  
I didn't want either one of them to find me like that.  
I couldn't stop thinking about Frank, and it disgusted me.  
What happened to keeping myself alive? Did I really need to depend on someone else to decide the requirements and standards of my happiness?  
I suppose I did. My standards were too high, now- if I lived life by my own rules, I would've tried to suffocate myself with a towel a long, long time ago.  
I held a paperclip in my right hand; I'd been holding it for three hours, since I stepped into the shower. I'd bent it, and then bent it back into shape. I'd pressed it against my skin and considered hurting myself.  
In the end, my sorrow and self-loathe won, and I hurt myself.  
There was one line, thick and shaking and bloody, on the outside of my right thigh, done with a paperclip, the skin struck over and over again until torn. There was water that was just warmer than what I considered too hot, against my inner right wrist, so steaming that my skin reddened and swelled a bit. Then there was my inner lip, chewed raw by my teeth, and the bottom of my left ear, raw from picking fingers. There was also that mysterious scab on the upper cartilage of my left ear, now bleeding terribly, a towel pressed against the skin that I did not know could produce so much blood. (I considered removing the towel, and tilting my head to the left, and letting all of the blood in my body drain out through my ear, but I then decided that that would be too much of a mess for my mother to clean up.)  
I nearly smiled at how considerate I was being, as I removed the towel from my ear, dampening the corner with the running shower water. I sat my paperclip on the edge of the tub, and carefully cleaned the blood from my two open wounds.  
If anyone saw me they might have thought I was nothing more than a nervous man, attacked by a small cat with thick claws.  
If Frank saw me, I suppose he would cry.  
But I didn't want to think of Frank, nor did I want to think of Frank crying because of me, so I picked up the paperclip and tore the skin on my leg in the same spot as before, watched it slice open and bleed all over again  
I counted my scars, and then I counted them again. I counted my fingers, and I counted the corners in the room. I counted how many seconds I could hold my breath, and wondered how many seconds it would take for me to pass out.  
Mikey knocked on the door, eventually, asking if I was okay.  
I told him no, but also assured him that he shouldn't worry about me.  
I found myself sitting on the bathroom floor, not sure what to do with myself.  
I needed time to think.  
Did I love Frank Iero?  
To know the answer to that, I needed to define love, first...  
Love is strong. It is angry and passionate, and sometimes, it hurts. Love is looking past the scars, the ignorance, the anger, the betrayal, the superficial lust. Love, the romantic kind, boils down to sacrifices, small and big and unimportant and life changing.  
I would give anything for Frank, and that I knew for sure.  
Would I take time out of my day to spend it with Frank? Of course.  
Would I not go to college, if Frank needed me at home? Frank always comes before college.  
Would I stay with Frank if he were sick, would I help him get better even if it put me at the risk of getting sick? I wouldn't dream of saying no.  
If I had to risk my life to save Frank's, if someone were to ask me to take a bullet for him? It seems like the answer is obvious.  
I was madly, impossibly, and painfully in love with Frank Iero, and there was absolutely nothing in the world that could convince me of otherwise.


	24. Chapter 24

Pete was fifteen minutes late. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been staring at the clock from the moment noon rolled around, but I couldn't help myself. I needed a friend and I most certainly was not going downstairs to Henry (my mother was out buying milk or something, I hadn't really been paying attention when she told me,) for comfort, nor could I bring myself to pick up my phone and call Gerard back, because I knew for a fact that his voice would upset me all over again.  
I told him I would wait until he could say "I love you," back, I know I did, but it felt like a lie. I didn't want to wait for him to say it back. I'd waited for a really long time for something to actually happen with this relationship, and when I tried to take it somewhere, he suddenly wasn't sure?  
I just felt so betrayed.  
When the front door's bell rung, I was practically tripping over my own feet all the way down the stairs.  
I vaguely noticed Henry sitting in the living room, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, staring at me as I ran by, but I didn't bother saying hello. I didn't blame him for staring; I'd locked myself in my room after Gerard left last night and basically did nothing except sleep and slam things around. He was probably assuming that I had anger management issues. I'd been told that a lot, when I was younger; as a kid I dealt with everything by screaming and throwing things. Luckily, as I got older, I'd kind of grown out of it, but recently the anger was starting to come back, and it was coming back way too often. It was like, instead of getting depressed like I had for the past few years, I was suddenly really mad at everyone and anything that I could be mad at.  
When I finally got to the door, I wasn't exactly prepared for the wave of relief that flooded me when I saw Pete standing there. He looked like a puppy, or something, standing timidly outside of my house, bits of hair falling in his face. He stood there gazing around with his hands in his jacket pockets, until he noticed I'd opened the door, because then he met my eyes and smiled like I was the best part of his day (and fuck, it felt like forever since Gerard had looked at me like that, smiling honest and happy and fucking loving,) and dropped his hands from his pockets.  
I practically flung myself at him, needing a hug more than anything else in the world right then, and he stumbled a bit, but hugged me back. I pressed my face against his neck and held onto him like my life depended on it, because right then, I felt like it kind of did.  
It was amazing, the types of things a hug could do for someone. It could heal an entire night's worth of regret, it could take away the aching wish that I hadn't pushed Gerard away, and it could remind me all over again about how maybe pushing Gerard away was exactly what I needed, at least for a little while, because Pete's hug was a lot more comfortable than anything Gerard had provided me with the past few days.  
Pete didn't try to push me away, and I was thankful for that. All he said was, "You okay?"  
"I'm better than I was before you got here," I told him, his hoodie muffling my voice as I pressed my face tighter against him, my nose fitting warmly into the crook between his neck and shoulder. "But I still feel pretty shitty." Hugged him was so much different than hugging Gerard. Gerard's body melted easily against mine, he felt safe and warm and like home. Pete's hug was safe and warm, too, but we just didn't fit right, we didn't seem to know where to put our bodies, we didn't want to get too close to each other, but we still wanted to hug. It was awkward.  
Pete sighed and leaned back, looking at me, and smoothed down my hair. "Poor thing," he sighed. "What happened?"  
I couldn't help but think that if he were Gerard he probably would've kissed me, and I probably would've let him, but him being Pete, I wasn't actually sure what I would've done if he had kissed me.  
"Not yet," I sighed. "I don't want to talk about it yet."  
I can't say I would've been surprised, if he had kissed me- I knew Pete liked me, it wasn't new information, but he'd never really tried to act on it. But how do you politely not kiss someone? You can't just shove them away, because that was an asshole move, but you can't kiss them back, because that's leading them on and is equally as large of an asshole move as shoving them away would be.  
Do you just... move back? Tilt your head away?  
Or maybe you just shouldn't fucking think about kissing someone who's not Gerard.  
I realized that we'd been standing there, awkwardly, for longer than normal, so eventually I just cleared my throat and turned around, hoping Pete would follow. "So, have you had lunch?" I asked him, leading him into the kitchen, glancing at him over my shoulder.  
He shook his head. "No, I'm not that hungry, though, it's okay-"  
"We have left-over pizza, though," I told him, because he reminded me of Gerard right then and I was not going to let him get away with that; luckily, left-over pizza was enough to convince him.  
So we ended up sitting at the kitchen table together, with coffee and pizza and slow, easy conversation, about simple shit like school and how the guys at school had been lately, and about music and musicians and bands. It was nice and it helped me forget.  
That is, until Henry walked in, leaning on the fridge and giving me a look that made me feel guilty about something that I couldn't place, like Henry thought I had committed some terrible crime that I had no memory of committing.  
And then I realized,shit. Henry had just been introduced to Gerard last night, and he heard us arguing, and here I was sitting with a boy that Henry had never met, talking and chatting like everything was okay.  
"Henry," I said, not sure how to go about introducing the two. "This is mine and Gerard's friend, Pete. Pete, this is my mom's boyfriend, Henry."  
Henry relaxed slightly, hearing Gerard and Pete's name in the same sentence, but still looked  
tense as he shook Pete's hand.  
"So," Henry said, smiling easily. "You know Gerard?"  
Pete nodded, smiling timidly back. Gerard wasn't exactly a comfortable subject for him. "Yeah, he's an okay guy."  
Henry nodded, and sent me a look, and suddenly, Henry was giving me this stupid smart ass glance that said "I swear to god if you are cheating on Gerard I will make your life a living hell," and I was giving him a look that said "Oh my god, Henry, you stupid fuck, Pete is just a friend," but I'm pretty sure my message didn't get across.  
"So, Pete," I said, standing up. "Wanna' go for a walk?"  
He stood too, sending a nervous-looking glance at Henry. "Uh, yeah- sure."  
I nodded slowly, sending Henry a look. "If Gerard calls," I told him. "Tell him I'm still with Pete, okay?"  
Henry paused for a second, and then sighed. "Yeah. Okay. Sure."  
I rolled my eyes.  
\---  
"Does Henry know about you and Gerard?"  
I nodded, looking across the street, glancing briefly at Pete. "Yeah. He does."  
Pete nodded back. "Okay." He glanced at me, too. "Where are we going, Frank?"  
"I have absolutely no idea."  
"Oh."  
We were silent for a few seconds.  
"I told Gerard that I love him," I said.  
Pete looked at me, eyes wide. "Seriously?"  
I nodded. "Yeah." I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "He didn't say it back."  
Pete stared at me, and stopped walking. "Oh, god- Oh, Frankie, I'm sorry."  
I looked at my feet, pausing my walking, too. "I- I don't think he's going to say it."  
Pete's hand flinched in my direction, like he wanted to touch me, but wasn't sure how. He settled for brushing his fingers against my elbow, briefly. "I'm so sorry, Frankie..."  
"It's okay," I said, even though it wasn't. We kept walking. "I didn't expect him to love me, anyway..."  
Pete wouldn't look at me. "Just because someone doesn't vocalize their love doesn't mean that they don't feel it."  
"But that's just the thing, Pete. I don't think he feels it at all anymore."  
"'Anymore,'" Pete echoed, glancing at me. He put his hands in his back pockets. "You say that like he was once in love with you. What changed?"  
I shrugged, staring at him for a few seconds, before forcing my gaze back to the sidewalk. "I'm not sure."  
Pete turned his head to stare at the sky. "When I was fifteen," he said suddenly, honestly. "I hit a really rough place in my life. I tried to kill myself. Pill overdose. It didn't work. I always told myself I would try again."  
I stared at him.  
"A month later someone transferred into my math class and I fell in love. And then the next year, he was in my History class, and he sat in front of me. We were never really friends but sometimes we talked about music, and I blushed a lot and dropped things. I've never really been a nervous person, but he was always so nice about everything; he picked up the dropped pencils and smiled at my jokes, and once he said he liked my hair and that's why I haven't changed it since then, because I've been hoping he still likes it... But I don't know if he remembers any of that, or not. He doesn't have many friends and I don't think he's ever considered me one of them... But now it's two years later, and having that boy in my English class has been keeping that love going, and so I dumped all the pills in the toilet because I thought maybe I had a chance." Pete glanced at me and then shifted his gaze quickly back to the clouds. "I decided to live because I thought I had a chance at love. Love does crazy shit like that sometimes- it can take away a lifetime of pain and hate and just wanting to die, or it can put a million years worth of damage into someone's head. And it can change faster than the weather, Frank."  
I didn't know what to say, and even if I did, I wouldn't know how to say it.  
"Give him a chance," Pete sighed. "That's what I'm trying to say. Don't let this be the bottle of pills in the back of your throat and week in the hospital and a life time of shitty therapy sessions. Just wait until Gerard dumps out the pills and gets stable with his emotions and is ready to actually talk. Just wait for this storm to pass, enjoy the sunshine, and be prepared for the next cloud."  
I was silent for a long moment. "Peter Wentz?"  
"Yes, Frankie Iero?"  
"Who was it that you fell in love with that saved your life?"  
Pete smiled a small smile. "A sweet, cute kid from New Jersey with an asshole attitude and a stellar personality."  
I rolled my eyes at him, and bumped my shoulder against his. "You're an ass, Pete." I blinked suddenly, remembering how often Gerard and I used to do that, bumping shoulders while we walked, laughing at one another.  
"And you're cute," he shot back.  
I think I blushed, and suddenly, Pete's lips were against my cheek, warm and gentle and soft and dear.  
I shifted awkwardly when he just looked at me afterwards.  
"What was that for?" I mumbled, staring at the way my feet shuffled against the ground.  
"For being sweet."  
"I called you an ass," I said, smiling slowly. "You think that's sweet?"  
"I think it's sweet that you care enough to even notice me."  
I glanced at him, raising my eyebrows. "I feel like it would be rude to not. I mean, we are friends, aren't we?"  
Everything felt off.  
It should be Gerard, here, next to me; but it wasn't. Because Gerard didn't love me.  
But Pete did. I couldn't help but wonder if Pete felt how I felt, not being loved back. Was his pain as bad as mine? Was it worse?  
I looked at him as we paused on a corner, his eyes focusing in on his shoes as he shuffled his feet around, trying to get something off of the bottom of his red and black sneakers, which I suddenly realized matched his hair. Pete seemed like a strong person. He was confident around everyone but me, and I couldn't help but wonder if his confidence was a defense mechanism of some sort. Pretend to be happy, people think you're happy. Pretend to be confident, everyone will believe you. It was simple logic; so how long had his depression gone on unnoticed? Did it just get bad when he was fifteen, or was it there before then?  
Pete announced suddenly; "I wish I could kiss you."  
And I didn't know how to answer because I'd never had anyone but Gerard tell me that before.  
"You don't have to answer that," he said quickly. "I mean-" he sighed. "I know it's stupid. You and Gerard have a lot of history. I've been creepily crushing on you for, like, three years now. I'm hopeless, I know."  
I glanced around, not sure how to respond to that. "There's a cemetery about a block away," I realized, trying to change the subject.  
Pete was quiet for a moment, and looked like he was going to say something. I stared at him, confused. Did he know someone buried there?  
"Behind St. Peter's Church, yeah," he said, like he was remembering something. His eyebrows moved slightly but I couldn't identify the emotion he was trying so desperately to hide. "I used to spend a lot of time there. Haven't been in a while..."  
I smiled at him, trying to distract him from the sudden seriousness. "St. Peter's? I guess we have a right to be there, then..."  
He laughed, just barely. "You callin' me a saint, Frankie?"  
I couldn't help but giggle at him. "Well I ain't calling you an angel, that's for sure."  
"What, black isn't allowed in Heaven?" he said, glancing down at his skinny-jeans. "That's a serious insult, motherfucker!"  
I took a few quick steps forward, and grinned at him over my shoulder. "What'cha gonna' do about it, Peter Pan?"  
He laughed, his face lighting up fully for the first time since we started our walk. "Oh, that's it, Frankenstein, you are going down."  
I laughed, too, and took off running- Pete chased me, all the way to the cemetery, and I couldn't help but grin the entire time.  
I felt like a little kid- I felt happy. I hadn't felt that way in a long time.  
I stopped running as soon as I was inside the cemetery, but Pete didn't quite get the memo, and slammed into me, laughing as we stumbled.  
"Fucker," I grinned, shoving him off of me; it was hot out and his body heat was uncomfortable. "Motherfucker."  
He stuck his tongue out at me and winked. "The only person I want to fuck is you, Frankie."  
I rolled my eyes, laughing. "I'm pretty sure Gerard would murder you."  
"Are you saying you would let me?"  
I paused, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I- I never said that, Pete, I-"  
He giggled a bit, looking away. "Calm down, Frankie, I was kidding. I'm not- I mean." He took a deep breath, suddenly serious. "You and Gerard have a thing. I respect that. I know I keep bringing up, like, if things were different, but... I'm not going to try to change anything, between you and Gerard." His jaw shifted slightly; he was chewing on the inside of his lip, I could tell. I'd seen Gerard do it before. "I mean, unless you want me to." He glanced at me, looking hopeful, and I just turned my gaze to my feet. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought." Pete paused, looking around as if seeing the cemetery for the first time. "I have a friend buried here," he told me, his voice suddenly hard.  
I glanced at him, and then around at the graves. "A friend?"  
He faltered. "Yeah, but it's- it's not important who."  
I frowned a bit. "Do you want to visit him?"  
"Her," he corrected quickly. He was squinting at the sun and I rolled my shoulders. It was so hot outside, it was torturous. "And yeah. I think she'd want to meet you."  
I nodded, glancing around, not questioning his odd use of present tense, like this mysterious girl was still alive. "Lead the way."  
Pete nodded and we wove our way through the graves- we both stripped off our jackets, leaving them on the steps of the first mausoleum we passed.  
Pete pointed towards a bench under a short, lonely looking tree. "She's over there."  
I nodded and followed him over to the bench and tree, and I stood under the shade; Pete stood next to the closest grave to the bench, and I peered over his shoulder. "Ashlee Simpson," I read out loud. "Beloved daughter and friend." I blinked at the dates on the simple, gray tombstone. "She... She was thirteen..."  
Pete just stared at the ground. "We were gonna' get married, yknow? We were kids but- but we had it all planned out. She's was a year younger than me. We were gonna' get married one day and have kids and own a tattoo parlor, she was gonna' do piercings and I- I-"  
He looked at me suddenly and I blinked back. "Oh, Pete..."  
His chest was rising and falling at too fast a pace, his fingers were trembling. "I was going to marry her Frank, and she left me."  
I hugged him, unsure of how else to handle this.  
"She left me," he said, roughly. "Oh god, Frankie- she's gone, she-"  
I wrapped my arms around Pete as tightly as I physically could and he buried his face against my shoulder.  
"Her mom found her," he said, voice cracking. He was crying and I didn't try to stop him. "S-slit wrists, empty- empty pill bottle, and-" He was shaking everywhere. "I could've done something to help her, I should've-"  
"Pete," I whispered, touching his hair. "It's okay, Pete, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault."  
His fingers curled against my shirt. "I didn't know," he said hoarsely. "I knew she was unhappy but I never thought-"  
"No one ever thinks," I interrupted. "No one ever knows unless they ask for help, Pete. And she didn't ask for help, so how could you be expected to know?"  
Pete fell silent and I continued to hug him, even though his shaking shoulders had gone still.  
"I loved her," he declared roughly, lips touching my neck. "She was all I had to live for."  
I pressed my face into Pete's hair.  
"I'm here," I told him. "I'm here for you Pete, you know that, right? We haven't been friends long, I know, but I'm here for you and I'm not leaving any time soon."  
He nodded.  
We stood there for maybe another minute or two, before Pete slowly pulled away. He wiped his eyes roughly with the palms of his hands and turned away from me, back towards the tombstone.  
"Frank," he said quietly, roughly. "This is Ashlee. Ashlee, this is Frank."  
I blinked at the back of Pete's head, and then looked at the tombstone.  
"It's nice to meet you, Ashlee," I said to the ground. I glanced up at the sky, wondering briefly if that was the proper place to look instead, but then I remembered that I didn't fucking believe in God, anyway, so why should I believe in angels?  
I walked over to stand next to Pete in front of the tombstone and then slowly sank to my knees. The ground was dry and warm and the grass was stiff, but I pressed my palm against the earth and sighed. "You have yourself a great friend, Ashlee," I told the grass. I felt kind of stupid, but I also felt like I was doing something sort of noble. "Pete is a wonderful guy. I'm gonna' keep him safe for you, okay? I'll make sure he stays alright. I promise."  
Pete fell roughly to his knees next to me and his fingers touched mine for a fleeting moment; I heard him take a sharp breath inward and I wonder what he had felt right then.  
Did he feel Ashlee's touch again, when he touched my hand? Or just the rough back of my hand and the dry grass between my fingers?  
I didn't know if Pete was religious or not and I didn't want to ask.  
I looked at him, though, and wondered what more I should say.  
He was staring at my hand on the ground.  
"Pete?"  
His eyes flickered to my face, and then back to my hand.  
"Pete, am I- am I really your reason?"  
He sighed and shifted his legs around, until he was sitting kindergartner-style on the ground. I mimicked the motion, our knees touching. "My reason for what?"  
"For not killing yourself?"  
He titled his head back and looked up at the sky, like the easy answer was written in the clouds. "When I was a kid I was never happy," he told me. "Ashlee made me happy. When Ashlee died, I thought- I thought I'd never be happy again. But..."  
"But I made you happy?" I asked, intrigued.  
Pete nodded, finally meeting my eyes. "You make me happy."  
I glanced away and when I looked back, he wasn't looking at me again. "You went all that time without saying anything," I told him. "I never would've known-"  
"I love you," he said, before I could get another word in. "I mean, I just- Fuck." He frowned. "I haven't said that, like, directly to you. I've said it a ton, but not, like, not directly, and- Shit."  
I blinked at him.  
He didn't look at me. "I feel like an idiot. We barely know each other, how can I say that? You don't know much about me, I don't know much about you."  
"It's okay," I said quietly. "I get it."  
"I just- I always told myself that being 'just friends' would be harder than admiration from afar, y'know? So I never really tried to get closer to you. I mean, I know that's complete bullshit, now, having you as a friend is a lot better, but I always- I always figured you were straight."  
"Honestly," I told him, sighing. "I thought I was for a long time. Because that's what I had been taught, yknow? I'd always been told that boys were off limits emotionally."  
"I tried a lot, though," he said, defending himself.  
"Yeah, you tried a lot," I agreed, remembering every conversation he had ever sparked with me about music or art or whatever the topic of the moment happened to be. He'd always looked so shy when he did that, I realized. He had always been waiting for me to approach him first and when I didn't, he got nervous.  
"If it weren't for Gerard," I told him. "I would never have spoken to you outside of our old conversations. He was the one who told me to sit with you at lunch."  
Pete paused. "If it weren't for Gerard," he told me. "I could be kissing you right now."  
I looked up at the sky, too. "Yeah, I guess you could."  
"Would you let me?"  
"Kiss me? Would I let you kiss me?"  
"If you weren't dating Gerard," he clarified. "Would you?"  
I continued to stare at the sky; it was a beautiful shade of summer blue. "Probably, yeah."  
"Knowing that he doesn't love you," Pete continued. "But also knowing that he probably does; will you let me kiss you?"  
"Will I? As in, will I let you kiss me right now?"  
Pete nodded.  
I sighed. "I'm sorry, Pete."  
"Not even just for a second?"  
I stared at him, his sad eyes, sad lips, sad face. Pete was so, so sad; how had I never noticed that before?  
I considered it. Would Gerard be mad? For some reason, I didn't think so. I could see him feeling upset, a bit betrayed, but I also felt like he would understand. Gerard was a smart boy, he knew me better than that. He would understand...  
I closed my eyes. I didn't know where the fuck I was going with this. "I'm counting to ten," I said. "And on ten, I'll be back in reality. Until ten, I'm going to pretend like no one outside of this cemetery exists. Okay?"  
Pete faltered. "Okay."  
I started counting, out loud, at first-  
"One."  
Lips pressed warmly against mine.  
Two.  
His fingers touched my hair.  
Three.  
I pressed my eyes shut tighter, let myself kiss him back.  
Four.  
His fingers skimmed down my cheek.  
Five.  
I fell backwards, into the grass, and he landed on top of me.  
Six.  
He bit my bottom lip.  
Seven.  
I sighed against his mouth.  
Eight.  
His fingers touched my hair, my face, my shoulders, my chest.  
Nine.  
His lips pressed harder against mine, like I was oxygen and he was drowning.  
"Ten," I said, as he pulled away, sitting back up quickly.  
I stayed on my back for a second, eyes closed. I heard him move, he leaned back, laying next to me.  
"Thank you," he said softly.  
I opened my eyes and stared at the sky.  
I touched the inside of my bottom lip with my tongue lightly. Pete tasted so clean compared to Gerard's nicotine-stained lips. It was refreshing. Like a glass of water after a hot day.  
"Never again," I told him.  
His hand found mine and I forced my fingers to go limp as he curled his around them. Every instinct was suddenly screaming for me to play dead, because maybe then he would leave me alone to think in peace.  
"You're never kissing me like that again, Pete Wentz," I said sharply. "Understood?"  
He faltered. "You're angry," he breathed.  
I closed my eyes, tight. I didn't want to yell at him. "Not at you."  
His fingers squeezed mine and I didn't squeeze back.  
I sighed. "I'm not mad at you, Pete. Just at myself."  
There was a short silence.  
"Do you regret it?" he asked.  
I sighed. "Pete, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"  
"It's okay," he interrupted. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have asked." He moved his hand away from mine. "I'll never do anything like that again, I promise. I won't even bring it up. We can forget it happened, if you want to. Because you're with Gerard."  
"Yeah," I said, taking a deep breath of air. "I am."  
\---  
Pete went home. I hugged him before he left, and he sighed, apologized again. I apologized, too.  
"I shouldn't have let you..."  
He shrugged, glancing down at his feet, like he was hoping the earth would swallow him whole. "I shouldn't have asked."  
We stood in silence for a second; we were on my front porch, it felt like a scene from a movie. Two lonely boys caught in some stupid love triangle that wasn't even a triangle at all, just one quivering line and two broken strings.  
"You have to tell Gerard," Pete said. "If you don't, I will, and I think it'll be a whole lot better coming from you."  
"I'll tell him," I sighed. "I'll do it today."  
Pete nodded, glancing at the window nearest us. "Can they see us from inside?"  
"No."  
He kissed my cheek, softly, lips lingering too long. When he moved away, he just stopped and kind of stared at me for a second. "That's the last time," he said softly. "I promise."  
I looked at my feet. "Bye, Peter."  
His fingers brushed my elbow as he walked away. "Bye, Frankie."  
\---  
The walk to Gerard's house felt like a walk of shame. It was a strange, shame, though. It was shame caused by lack of guilt.  
I didn't feel guilty for kissing Pete. Not at all. It felt normal, actually. Every teenager did that at some point in their life, didn't they? Kiss someone who they probably shouldn't have kissed?  
It was a slow walk to Gerard's house, and it was too warm, so warm it made me want to curl up in die. Glancing at the sky, I realized a terrible thing; Pete and I had left our jackets in the cemetery. I cursed out loud, reminding myself to pick them up later.  
When I finally arrived at Gerard's doorstep, I wasn't quite sure if I should knock or try to work out something to say first.  
I decided to just knock.  
I saw the curtains in the living room move, and caught a small glimpse of Mrs. Way; she must be back from the family visit. I heard a faint call from inside as the curtains fell back into place.  
"Gerard, get the door, please... I- I'm busy..."  
I made a mental note to thank Mama Way later.  
A few seconds later, the door cracked open.  
Gerard stared at me.  
He looking like shit. Tired and upset and sad. He looked scared and angry and depressed.  
"Gerard," I said, "We need to talk about something, I-"  
He hugged me, around the waist, pulling me in tight and resting his chin on top of my head. "I missed you," he choked out. "Fuck, please- please don't leave me again."  
I hugged him back, my arms looping around his shoulders, my face pressed against his neck. "I missed you, too," I said slowly.  
We stood like that for a minute, and then he asked, his fingers combing lightly through my hair, "Why are you crying, sweetheart?"  
I took a shuttering breath of air and held him tighter. Once I said it, he would think the tears were from the guilt. He would think it was from the regret.  
But there was no guilt, no regret. Just a hollow chest and an over-crowded mind that was constantly wondering why love was so confusing.  
"I kissed Pete, Gerard."


	25. Chapter 25

It hit me like a ton of bricks in the chest.  
"What?"  
He hugged me tighter. "I kissed Pete," he whispered.  
I didn't know what to do.  
I didn't know what to feel or what to think or how to react; in theory, I should've immediately been upset with him. I should have shoved him away and yelled and gotten upset and cried.  
He kissed Pete.  
But I wasn't upset, I couldn't be upset with him.  
I mean, I'd hurt him, hadn't I?  
I almost felt like I deserved this.  
He'd been honest with me, he'd told me that he loved me, but I had been too much of a coward to admit that I loved him, too, and then when he needed me, I wasn't there. I deserved this.  
I didn't know exactly what to do.  
"I'm sorry," he told me.  
"We should-" I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut, pressing my lips against his hair. "Fuck, Frank... We need to talk about this, I-"  
His fingers curled against my shirt, digging against my skin. I was sure my hips would be bruised in the morning but for some reason, I didn't mind.  
"If you're going to break up with me," he said, trembling. "Just go ahead and fucking do it."  
I froze. "What?"  
He tore away from me, wrapping his arms instantly around himself. "I don't want Pete," he said, his voice shaky. "I want you, Gerard, okay? But if you- if you don't trust me, or- just, oh fuck, I know I screwed up, okay? I know I screwed up, I know I'm an idiot. Don't make this worse than it has to be. Just do it already."  
I stared at him. "I'm not going to break up with you, Frank..."  
He was looking at the ground. "Promise?"  
"I promise."  
"Swear?"  
"I swear, Frank." I put my hand on his elbow and tugged him gently inside. "Ma," I said as we walked past the living room. "Frank's here, we'll be in my room, okay?"  
She looked at me for a long moment, and then at Frank, who was turned away, staring down the hall; then she nodded, slowly. "Okay. Dinner will be ready at six..."  
I just nodded and followed Frank to my room. He let me go in first, closing the door softly behind him.  
"I'm sorry," he said, "That I refused to see you, earlier today. I know that was shitty of me. I was just... Upset."  
I sat on my bed and he gazed around the room, leaning on my door, like he expected something to have drastically changed since yesterday.  
"I thought that I had ruined everything," I told him. "I thought you were going to leave me, like, for good."  
The seemingly permanent pile of blankets was still sitting on my floor, and he walked over, sitting in the pile, tugging a blanket to cover his legs, even though my room wasn't cold and it was hot outside.  
"May I join you?" I asked, quietly.  
He nodded, moving over a bit, and I moved down to sit next to him. We leaned our backs against my bed and I rested my head on his shoulder.  
"Are you angry?" he asked, tilting his head to rest it on top of mine. "That I kissed Pete, I mean?"  
I closed my eyes, sighing, breathing him in. "Honestly?"  
"Honestly..."  
"Honestly I'm not as angry as I should be. Upset, annoyed, hurt, yeah; but I'm not mad at you. I was- I was half-expecting something betweeen you and Pete to happen eventually, anyway."  
Frank turned slightly, shifting his shoulder until I lifted my head off of it. For a second, I just looked at him.  
He kissed me, soft and quick, eyes open.  
I stared at him when it was over, and then kissed him back, slow and long and desperate, eyes shut, my palms and fingers on his cheeks.  
He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, soft. "I don't want you to hurt over this."  
"It's more of a... Like, a weight, or something."  
"A weight?"  
"Like everything in my chest got all heavy, all at once."  
I let my hands fall away from his face.  
"I talked it out with him," Frank told me, quietly. "He knows it didn't mean anything, he knows it was a one-time-only-thing. He knows why I let him do it."  
I chewed slightly at my lip. "Why did you let him do it?"  
He rested his head against the side of my bed. "Pete had a girlfriend when he was, like, fourteen, right?"  
"Okay..."  
"She killed herself."  
I stared at him.  
"And, he said- he told me, he was... He tried, y'know? Pills."  
My chest tightened up. Pete? Happy, kind, energetic Pete? Suicidal? It didn't make sense. "Oh, god..."  
Frank sighed. "Yeah, exactly. It gets-" He laughed, faintly. "It gets fucking worse, too. I was his reason for not trying again."  
"You?"  
Frank nodded. "Pete told me, he said- well, I told him about how I told you that I love you, and about how you didn't say it back, and- and he just kind of said, 'just because he didn't say it, doesn't mean that he doesn't feel it, y'know?'"  
I nodded. I did know; I knew far too well exactly what he meant.  
"And he basically told me that, like, back in freshman year when he met me, he- he 'fell for me' or whatever." Frank made air quotes with his fingers when he said 'fell for me' and I tried not to laugh.  
"Yeah?"  
Frank nodded. "And, he said, like- he said, I became his reason for not killing himself. And he said, 'if you weren't with Gerard, would you let me kiss you?' And, I mean- Of course the answer to that was yes. But then he asked if I would let him kiss me, right then. Knowing that you might love me, even though you didn't vocalize it."  
"And you said yes?"  
Frank closed his eyes. I watched him swallow a breath of air, the small lump in his throat rising and falling. He still had on the Misfits shirt. "I told him no, but then- I dunno."  
"You changed your mind?"  
Frank opened his eyes again, stared at the ceiling. "I told him that I would close my eyes, and for ten seconds, I would pretend like no one else existed except me and him. He could've done anything, said anything, in those ten seconds. He used the ten seconds to kiss me."  
I nodded, leaning my head against the bed, too. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders.  
"I'm not angry," I said quietly. "I'm- I'm disappointed as hell, but- I deserved that, I guess."  
Frank glanced at me. "I didn't let Pete kiss me to punish you for anything, Gerard. I let him kiss me because I felt like I owed him at least that much."  
"You didn't 'owe' him anything, Frank, you-"  
"He loves me," Frank said, looking sharply away. "Everyone fucking deserves a chance at requited love, okay? I owed it to him. He should know what it feels like."  
I was left staring at the back of his head for the millionth time as he stared away.  
"You let Pete kiss you so he wouldn't-"  
"So he wouldn't have to feel as hurt as I do," Frank said, quietly. "He knows I can't love him but at least he knows the reason behind it and has gotten a taste of what it could've been like."  
I flinched at that. "Frank..."  
He sighed. "Don't even try, Gerard. Don't try to be the hero. Just..." He turned around, hugged me, pressed his face against my neck. "Just let me hurt on my own for once, okay? Don't force any of your bullshit on me. Just let me sort out the emotions on my own."  
I hugged him back. "I don't want you to ever feel hurt, though," I sighed.  
"Why not?"  
I kissed the top of his head, strands of his hair sticking to my lips. "Would you want me to hurt?"  
"No. Of course not."  
"Exactly."  
"Love me," he said, his nose brushing the skin of my neck, "And maybe I would stop hurting."  
We sat in silence for a moment and I wondered if I was reacting to this correctly.  
Shouldn't I be angry? My boyfriend kissed someone besides me. Shouldn't that piss me off? Upset me? Spark some sort of emotion other than slight disappointment?  
I understood, though. I understood his logic. He didn't want to hurt Pete as badly as I had hurt him. He had to do at least something to try and mend the wound.  
I moved my hands to Frank's face, tilting his chin up. He blinked at me a few times and I sighed.  
Frank's wounds hadn't been mended yet. I'd hurt him and I'd done absolutely nothing to try and fix it.  
I kissed him, softly. "You're so pretty," I told him, under my breath.  
His honey-hazel eyes closed, my breath against his cheek. "Boys aren't supposed to be pretty," he said, like it was a known fact and I was an idiot.  
"You're beautiful, then."  
He opened his eyes and kissed me on the forehead, his fingers touching my hair. "I love you," he said.  
I kissed his jaw. "I know you do."  
He paused, humming lightly when I kissed his neck, fingers curling tighter into my hair. "Still not saying it back, huh?"  
I pressed my nose against his collar bone, wanting to change the subject. "You smell good. Like dirt and nicotine."  
He laughed, putting his hands on my face and making me look at him. "You're such a freak," he told me, seriously but with a smile. "But I kind of like it." Then he kissed me on the lips, eyes closed.  
"Eventually," I said, my lips parting from his. I tilted my face and his eyelashes brushed ever-so-softly against my cheek. "I'll say it eventually."  
His fingers were playing with the hem at the bottom of my shirt and I wondered where his sudden confidence was coming from.  
"How soon is eventually?"  
"Soon enough." I kissed him again; open mouthed, sloppily. I loved him and I was scared but his lips were warm and safe and felt like home.  
His fingers were slipping up my shirt, skimming across my skin. "You're a bitch," he said, voice low, barely breaking the kiss. Something about his tone told me that he wasn't joking.  
I laughed at it anyway, pulling away, resting my forehead against his. He was hot when he was pissed off. "But I'm your bitch and you know you like it."  
"You're right, I do." He smiled just barely, like it was forced, pressing his face against my neck.  
"My little brother is right across the hall," I reminded him, all ten of his fingers pressed flat against my stomach, warm against my skin.  
He mouth was pressed against my neck, and it didn't seem like he had any intentions of moving away from that spot. "Are you suggesting that you being my bitch is a sexual statement?"  
I closed my eyes. "If you give me a hickey, Frank Iero-"  
"Who the fuck is going to stop me, Gerard Way?"  
I hummed, considering. I wouldn't stop him, that's for sure. He could have one hand halfway down my pants and I wouldn't stop him.  
"Sleep with me tonight?"  
He paused, leaning back, raising his eyebrows at me.  
I rolled my eyes. "As in sleep in the same bed as me, you perverted shit."  
He laughed, high pitched and cute; his voice still kind of annoyed sounding, though. "Of course I'll sleep with you."  
"Really? How much do you charge?"  
Before I was even finished with the sentence Frank was kissing me and I was falling sideways into the pile of blankets. Frank grabbed my shirt and pulled, rolling us over completely; first so he was on his back, and then so that he had me pinned down. It was hot and his skin was warm and I was sharply aware of my shirt sticking to my skin.  
He was kissing me again.  
"Where did all of this sudden confidence come from?" I asked, my breath hitching in my throat.  
He was tracing kisses down my neck. "I don't know," he said. His skin was setting mine on fire. "But there is something I really want right now, that you could give me..." His voice was low and hushed and teasing and it was beautiful.  
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. He was moving his lips sloppily across my collar bones, his hands were flush against my hips. He could have asked me to do anything in the world right then and I would have willingly given in. "Yeah? What would that be?"  
"A cigarette."  
I paused and then laughed, looking at him and raising an eyebrow as he sat up. "And what makes you think that I'm going to share my cigarettes with you?"  
"You're going to share your cigarettes with me," he said, sitting in the center of the pile of blankets and looking at me, "Because you owe me."  
"What, exactly, do I owe you?" I asked, sitting up, supporting myself with my elbows.  
"You owe me everything, Gerard Way." He leaned over and his fingers were on my face and he was kissing me, slowly, angrily, like he had a point to prove.  
Part of me wondered if I should be the angry one- he had gone behind my back and kissed a boy who wasn't me. The other half of me felt like I deserved his attitude, though. I loved him and I knew it but I had just been too much of a coward to say it, and now that I want to say it, I had no idea how to.  
He sat back up again and I closed my eyes, flopping onto my back. I could barely breathe and I wanted the smoke to make it worse and I wanted Frank to kiss me until I passed out. I wanted to smother myself in him. "Left pocket," I said, quietly, because he was right. I owed him everything. I'd hurt him, so impossibly much, I didn't know how or if I could ever make it up to him.  
I didn't feel his fingers as he slipped the pack of cigarettes out of my pocket.  
"Lighter?"  
I fished it out of my back pocket, holding it out to him already lit. He put the cigarette between his lips and leaned forward again, letting me do the work for him.  
I watched as he closed his eyes, breathing in deep, cigarette between his lips and fingers.  
"Frank?" I said, softly. "Can I-"  
He passed the cigarette and I took a long drag from it, enjoying the sting in my lungs, but he took it back before I could get my fill.  
The cigarette was between his lips and the way he smiled made it look like he was kissing it.  
I stared at him, watching him smoke. "Unbelievable," I said, quietly.  
He raised his eyebrows, removing the pre-packaged cancer in question from between his lips. "What?"  
"I'm jealous of a cigarette."  
He grinned, holding it between two fingers, placing it slowly between those butterfly lips of his. He was kissing suicide and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  
"You're gorgeous," I told him. "You're the most gorgeous boy in the whole wide world."  
There was a short silence that consisted of him smoking and me just staring at him.  
"Would you fuck me?" he asked suddenly.  
I felt my eyebrows raise. "What?"  
"Would you," he paused, touched the cigarette to his lips briefly, "Fuck me?"  
I blinked a few times in quick succession. "Honestly, I'd rather you fuck me."  
He laughed, just barely, one side of his smile raising higher than the other. "It's kind of funny," he said. "How this relationship started with me crying in your lap because I was confused about my sexuality and you telling me stories about how you got so confident with yours. It started with you making all the first moves and stuff."  
"Why is that funny?"  
"Because I ended up saying 'I love you' first and now you're the one too scared to say it back."  
I looked away, because he was right.  
"You do though, don't you?"  
I glanced at him.  
He nodded, taking a long drag from the cigarette, and then leaned over to smush it into the ashtray on my bedside table. "Yeah. That's what I thought."  
"I didn't say that I don't," I said.  
"Then if you do," he snapped, "Fucking say it already. Either that or just... Just stay away from me. Please. It'll be easier."  
I sighed. "Frank, you can't just-"  
"Trust you? To care about me?"  
I sat up. "You can trust me," I insisted.  
"Then tell me you love me."  
I kissed him. "I love you."  
His fingers were in my hair. "You mean it?"  
I kissed him again, soft and half-there and unsure and terrified. "I love you. I mean it."  
"I love you, too."  
I leaned in to kiss him again, but he arched away sharply.  
"I have to pee," he informed me, standing up.  
I laughed, smiling. "Go, then. I'll miss you."

He kind of smiled as he walked to the door, dorky and still cute and sad, like he wasn't sure if he believed that I really loved him, or not. "Yeah. I'll miss you, too."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six - Frank's POV

I sat on the counter in the bathroom, half-turned, looking at myself in the mirror. I kept replaying the sound of his voice in my head; 'I love you.'  
Why did he sound so fucking terrified?  
I stared at my reflection. I looked like a wreck; my hair was unruly as hell and my eyes were tired, dull, not fully there. I was pale and looked sort of like a ghost. I looked depressed and tired and- and I looked like Gerard did when he was having an off day. I smelt like smoke and I was cold and I was tired and I felt like killing myself.  
"Fuck," I said, pressing my hands over my face. We were both in such shitty shape. How does a couple consisting of two depressed, suicidal teenagers even happen? How the fuck was this working? It's hard to make someone happy when you feel like putting a gun to your own head.  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered, glaring at my reflection. I wanted to throw up. Gerard deserved so much fucking better than me. He deserved someone who could make him happy, someone who wouldn't fucking force him into saying things he obviously didn't want to say. Someone who wasn't so angry all the damn time and someone who didn't hate himself and someone who wasn't fat and ugly and selfish and stupid and suicidal. He deserved so much better.  
There was a light knock on the door. "Frank?"  
My fingers faltered as I ran them through my hair.  
"Mikey?"  
"Yeah. Hey, you okay?"  
"I'm-" I had started to say 'I'm fine,' but I didn't want to lie to the kid. "I don't know."  
"Ma said dinner is ready."  
"Okay." I stood up and glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, wondering if anyone else noticed how dead I looked.  
Mikey was standing right outside when I opened the door.  
"Gerard is outside smoking," Mikey informed me.  
"Okay."  
"He's already on his second cigarette. He burns through them fast when he's upset."  
I stuck my hands in my front pockets, curling them into fists. "Everything okay?" I asked him, staring.  
"He loves you," Mikey told me. "He really fucking loves you, okay?"  
I blinked. "I- I know. He just told me."  
Mikey nodded. "I know, he told me what happened. But, he's- there's something wrong, I think."  
"Yeah," I said quietly, nodding. "I think so too." The problem wasn't with Gerard, though. He'd been nothing but nice and patient and tolerant and considerate. Hell, I kissed another boy and he didn't even get angry. The problem here was me.  
"Just, remember, though, okay? No matter what my brother says or does, he loves you with every ounce of his stupid non-existent heart. Okay?"  
"Okay," I said, understanding. I ruffled Mikey's hair with one hand. "Thanks, kid."  
He looked at his shoes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Frank."  
I sighed and pulled him into a quick hug and he flinched a bit, surprised. "You're the most grown-up one of us all," I informed him before I turned and left the hall for the kitchen. He followed a few moments later, looking at me like I was insane, so I just stared at the table as I sat down.  
"What's for dinner?" Mikey asked, quietly, sitting across from me.  
"You requested cheeseburgers," Mama Way said. "So we're having cheeseburgers and mac and cheese, and I made a veggie burger extra special just for Frank.  
"Thank you," I said, smiling as she distributed the plates. We had a fairly organized seating pattern- the table was round, so I sat across from Mikey and Gerard sat on my right side as close as he could get without being too obvious. (He liked to be just close enough to occasionally rest his hand on my knee, but far enough away that to his mother, it still seemed like he was respecting my personal space,) and Mama Way sat at an equal distance between Mikey and I. It kind of changed, sometimes, like if Gerard was mad at me he would sit slightly closer to Mikey, and if Mikey wasn't feeling well or was annoyed with his brother, he'd sit slightly closer to his mother.  
"Is Gerard still outside?" I asked, frowning.  
Mama Way nodded. "Yeah... I'll go call him in-"  
"I'll go," I told her, standing. "He's, uh, kind of grumpy today."  
Mama Way nodded, sitting down in her regular spot. "Thank you."  
"No problem."  
When I walked outside, I paused next to Gerard, looking at him from the side. He was on the phone- something rare and weird for him.  
He had a cigarette dangling between two fingers, the cellphone in his right hand. His cigarette hand raised to his forehead and I watched him scratch at his head with his thumb, nodding to whatever the person on the phone was saying. "Uh, yeah, sure," he said, placing the cigarette between his lips and breathing it in deep. "Tomorrow would be great, if that works for you," he said, letting the smoke out as he spoke. He didn't even seem to notice me standing there. "Sorry this is so last minute and sudden and whatever. It's sort of spur of the moment."  
I reached over to Gerard's waist and slipped my fingers into his pocket, taking his pack of cigarettes. His eyes flickered down to my hand but otherwise he still didn't seem to notice me, not even when I had my hand in his back pocket, extracting his lighter.  
"It's okay," Gerard said as I lit my cigarette. I watched him talk, raising an eyebrow. "Well, it's not, really, but we talked about it. I know what happened and I understand the logic behind it. I was just thinking it would be good for all three of us to sit down and talk about it, y'know?"  
I placed the cigarette between my lips, fiddling with Gerard's lighter, turning it on and off and back on again. Gerard sounded really adult, right then, and he looked the part too. He looked like a businessman on the weekend, talking with a client about something important.  
"He's standing right here, if- Yeah, that works..." There was a short pause. Gerard moved his cigarette away from his lips and leaned towards me suddenly, pressing his lips against the side of my head as he listened to whatever it was the person on the other end of the phone call was saying. I turned, wanting to catch his lips with mine, but he was already leaning away, saying, "Okay," into the phone. "We'll see you tomorrow, then. Bye."  
He hung up the phone and put it in his back pocket, bringing his cigarette back to his lips.  
"Who was that?"  
"Just someone I know," Gerard said. "We're having company tomorrow."  
I frowned. "Oh. Okay."  
"They said to tell you that they're sorry."  
I felt both my eyebrows raise. "Sorry? For what? Who was that?"  
"They didn't specify for what and you can find out tomorrow for yourself if you really want to know."  
I sighed, glaring everywhere but at him. "Fine. Whatever."  
"Don't be so angry," he said, frowning slightly. "Why are you always so angry?"  
"I don't know," I said. "I didn't used to be like this. I used to just be scared of everything, all the time."  
"Are you not still scared of things?"  
"I am," I said, looking at my cigarette instead of at him. "I just do a better job at hiding my paranoia now."  
"Oh." He dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his shoe. "I'm assuming dinner is ready?"  
"Yeah."  
He stole my cigarette from between my fingers and dropped it, crushing it with his shoe like he had done to his.  
"I wasn't fucking done with that," I said.  
"You are now." He reached for my hand but I pulled it away before he could touch it. "What? What's wrong?"  
"I wasn't done with that cigarette," I repeated.  
"It's just a smoke, Frank," he said, looking at me. "And dinner is ready. We should be eating."  
"You had no fucking right to take the cigarette-"  
"It's my cigarette in the first place," he snapped back at me. "What the fuck is your problem, Frank?"  
I just glared at him, because I had no idea. I just needed that cigarette so badly. And who had he been talking to on the phone? Since when have we been keeping secrets from each other? "Whatever," I sighed, turning sharply to walk back inside. "Forget I said anything. Fuck you."  
His hand caught my arm and jerked me to a stop. "'Fuck you,' Frank?" He sounded so hurt. "Really?"  
I faltered, eyes wide as I realized what I'd just said. "Oh- Oh, I didn't mean- Gerard, I'm sorry, I-"  
His fingers slipped off my my arm. "It's okay," he said, softly. "It's- just. Let's just forget about it, okay?"  
"I'm sorry," I said again, anyway, looking at him. "I don't know what- I mean-"  
He just started walking inside, ignoring me. I followed him, feeling ashamed. I hadn't meant to snap like that, I was just- I was just so angry. About everything. All the time. Angry and sad and upset.  
I faltered as I sat down, realizing that the words "Maybe I need medication," had crossed my mind.  
Did I need medication?  
To make me happy, to control the anger and paranoia?  
I glanced at Gerard out of the corner of my eye- he was talking to his mom, robotically, almost. He was upset and I was the only one who knew why, or even realized that he was upset.  
Who the hell says 'fuck you' to their boyfriend? What type of person does that make me?  
"Hey Frank," Mikey said, softly. "Your- your hands-"  
My fingers were shaking so hard my fork was clanking against my plate.  
"I'm sorry," I said, standing, dropping the fork. Since when did my fingers tremble this bad when I'm upset? I'd only ever seen that happen to Gerard. "I'm sorry."  
"Frank-"  
I was already walking out of the room, back to the front door, outside. Gerard was behind me, his fingers were on my arm, my shoulders, my cheeks- I was crying.  
"Hey, calm down." His voice was soft and calm and scared, I was pushing him away, shaking my head.  
What was wrong with me? Why was everything suddenly so... So fucking terrible?  
"Did you mean it?" I asked, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hands, shoving the hair out of my face, staring at the ground. Everything was blurry and my head hurts and Gerard's fingers touching my arm felt like pure pain. "Gerard, did you mean it?"  
He didn't answer and I didn't need one, anyway. Of course he didn't. That's why he had sounded so scared. Of course not, of course, fuck him, fuck me, oh, god-  
"I love you."  
I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck him, he was lying again. He was just trying to calm me down. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck-  
"Please don't make me say it again, Frank," he said, softly. "It scares me so much to say that."  
I made a point not to look at him. "I love you too," I said, my voice shaking almost as much as my fingers.  
He was hugging me and I sighed- it was hot outside and he was too warm and the tears on my face were too cold and it was all just too much. He was too warm and I was too warm and everything hurt. His fingers pressed against the base of my spine was so familiar it stung.  
"Now tell me what's wrong," he requested, softly.  
"I don't know." I was hugging him so tight I was scared he would break. "I'm just so- I don't know. So much is wrong, Gerard, I just don't know-"  
His fingers were everywhere that made sense, everywhere that made me feel a bit okay- stroking down my back and touching my wrists and against my cheek and pressed softly into my hair.  
"Let's go back inside," he said, quietly. "Take dinner to my room, and sit around and talk. Okay? We don't have to do anything else for the rest of the night."  
"Okay," I agreed softly.  
He wiped my cheek with his fingers, kissing me softly. "You go straight back to my room, okay? I'll bring our plates back."  
"Okay," I said again.  
Gerard kissed me again, just barely, and I followed him back inside, heading straight to his room.  
I needed a moment to think.  
What the fuck was wrong with me, lately?  
I was... Scared. Scared of the future, of now, of how things would work out.  
I love Gerard, I know that much- and he loves me back. But why does he sound so scared when he says it back?  
And Pete. I didn't understand what was happening with Pete.  
I sat on Gerard's bed, my back against the wall, my legs pulled up to my chest, my chin resting on my knees.  
I barely knew Pete. I mean, we'd known each other for a few years, but we hadn't become friends until just recently... And everything was moving so fast, everything with Pete was so exciting and strange and- and so normal. That's what teenagers did, what we had done; they kissed too soon and for too long and they had confused feelings and nothing made sense except the feeling of being attracted to someone. It was so normal, the weird type of friendship I had with Pete. It was almost like the average, cliche teenage romance I'd been missing out on all these years, but with a lot less romance and a lot more confused emotions.  
Gerard and I, we'd taken everything so slow. Because I'd made him take it slow. Because that's what I wanted, wasn't it? To make sure he was someone I truly cared about, to make sure he truly cared about me. I wanted security, safety. Trust and love and caring and understanding.  
And I had those things. I felt safe with Gerard, I trusted him, I loved him and wanted him in my life.  
But why did he sound so scared, when he said "I love you," back? I couldn't shake the paranoia. Was I doing something wrong? Did he not trust me? I felt so betrayed. He'd been the one to preach to me about love and trust and about going with your heart, he'd been the one to want to kiss too quick and too long and too hard.  
And now that I was ready for all of those things, he suddenly seemed even more scared than me.  
Gerard came into the room, handing me my plate, sitting down in the center of his bed with his plate in his lap.  
"Are you okay?"  
I shook my head, slightly, poking at my mac and cheese with my fork. I didn't even care at this point, I wasn't even hungry.  
"The person I was talking to," Gerard said, quietly. "On the phone, earlier? I just texted that person and they're going to come over tonight instead. The three of us need to talk about some things, work some stuff out."  
I shrugged indifferently, sitting my plate back down on Gerard's bed. I wasn't in the mood for this, for his soft voice and the way he could calm me down so easily.  
My head was fuzzy, I was so scared, so confused- "I want beer," I said, quietly.  
Gerard stared at me. "What?"  
I cleared my throat, slightly. "Alcohol," I said, a bit louder. "It helps- helps with the pain, right? The hurt? It'll- it'll help me forget why I'm sad?"  
Gerard faltered, frowning, looking so unsure. "It does do those things, yeah, but Frank, I've been there, trust me- you don't want to start using that as an escape."  
"Just once," I pleaded. "Gerard, just- just once. Please. I probably won't even like it. I just- I have to try, something, anything to deal with this..."  
He sighed. "Frank, I really shouldn't-"  
"I know your mom always keeps beer in the house," I said quietly. Mrs. Way wasn't a heavy drinker, not at all; I'd never seen her drunk, but on occasion she had a drink or two just as a recreational thing. "Please, Gerard. Just let me do it this once."  
He sighed. "One beer. That's it."  
"One beer," I promised.  
He leaned over, kissing my forehead softly. "I shouldn't be encouraging this," he said, touching my cheek with the back of his fingers. "But I've been there before, Frankie, and sometimes the alcohol really is the only thing that'll help."  
I sighed.  
Gerard left the room and I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling. I'd never wanted to get drunk before, but I wanted to do that so badly right now. I wanted to forget about how unsure Gerard seems about loving me and I wanted to forget about how scared I always am and I wanted to forget about my mom and about the kids at school who beat me up sometimes and I wanted to forget about Pete and about how he loved me and wasn't fucking afraid to say it and I wanted to forget about how sweet he was to me. I wanted to forget about the scars on my legs and about how I wanted more.  
Gerard came back with a six-pack of beer.  
"I though you said just one?" I pointed out, shifting my legs until I was sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, like an elementary school student. Gerard sat the drinks on the bed between us, mirroring my sitting position.  
"I wanted one too, okay?"  
I looked at him. "Gerard, you shouldn't-"  
"I just want one," he promised. He ran and hand through his hair, the dark locks tangled and unruly and absolutely beautiful. "I'm so over using alcohol to block out pain, I just want one. That'll- It'll barely do anything, trust me. It takes a lot to get me drunk."  
I nodded. Gerard popped the top off of one of the drinks, handing me the bottle.  
"Take it slow, okay?"  
I was already cringing from the taste of it before he'd even spoken but I forced myself to drink it, ignoring how absolutely disgusting it was.  
Gerard was just sipping at his, raising his eyebrows slightly at me.  
"So? First thoughts on your first beer?"  
"Disgusting," I said, raising it to my lips again.  
Gerard just kind of chuckled at me, shaking his head. "And yet you keep drinking?"  
"I want to get drunk," I told him. "How much 'til that happens?"  
"You said you only wanted one, Frank, not-"  
"Two," I said, taking a slow sip from my drink. "I'll stop after two."  
He sighed. "Two, okay. Two."  
There was a faint calling of, "Gerard?" from the living room.  
Gerard sighed again. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't do anything dumb while I'm gone."  
I rolled my eyes as he walked away.  
I wasn't going to do anything dumb.  
I tipped the drink back and drank as much of it as I could in one go.  
I was being irrational and immature, maybe, but not dumb.  
I wanted to forget everything. Even the good stuff. I wanted to forget the way Gerard's hair felt when it brushed against my cheeks, soft and lovely and dear. I wanted to forget about how warm it was to sleep next to him at night, all curled up with his knees pressed against the backs of mine. I wanted to forget how kissing Pete felt, flat on my back, cemetery grass brushing my arms, his fingers warm against my skin. I wanted to forget how honest he was when he said he loved me, how I had somehow saved the boy with the black and red hair who I barely even knew. I wanted to forget about how quickly Gerard had forgiven me, I wanted to forget about how quickly he had taken me back, how soft my apology felt brushing across his lips.  
It felt like Gerard took forever doing whatever it was that he had been called to do in the living room. I was already three-fourths of the way done with my second drink by the time he walked back in.  
"Slow down, kiddo," he said, sitting back down on the bed. He was only, like, halfway done with his first drink, still.  
"You were gone forever," I informed him, tilting my head and the drink back and draining the second bottle. "Like, an entire twenty minutes. My head feels buzzy. What were you doing?"  
"Mom made me help with the dishes."  
I frowned, pointing vaguely at his hand, fingers wrapped around his drink. "You drank beer in front of your mom?"  
He shrugged. "My alcohol issues in the past were never exactly a secret. She talked to me about it, she knows I'm just having one."  
I glanced at the now empty, second bottle in my hand, feeling sort of defeated.  
Did it really just end here? I felt weird and happy and buzzy, but I hadn't forgotten anything. I could still remember Pete's lips against mine and the way he looked at me right before he kissed me, and I could still remember Gerard's fear when he said he loved me.  
I pointed at the remaining drinks. "Third?"  
Gerard shook his head. "You said two, Frank. This stops at two."  
"But, Gerard," I said, whining slightly. "Gerard, I'm not- I'm not forgetting anything yet. It still hurts."  
I already had the third in my hand before he could argue, so he just rolled his eyes and took the bottle from me, opening it and handing it reluctantly back.  
There was a knock at Gerard's bedroom door and I frowned, taking a small sip of my drink. I still wasn't fucking used to the flavor.  
"I'll get it," I told him, standing and nodding. "I've got it." Walking felt... Weird. Kind of unsteady. I paused a few feet away from the door and blinked a lot, feeling dazed.  
"Who is it?"  
"Pete."  
I stared at the closed bedroom door. Pete?  
I opened the door, and yeah, there was Pete.  
"Hi Pete," I said happily, taking a sip from my beer. I waved with my other hand. "I'm getting drunk."  
He raised his eyebrows at me. "Hi Frank. You smell like alcohol and you're talking way too loud."  
"Thank you," I said, not having any other response. I felt... Weird. Buzzy. Fumbly. Kind of like laughing at everything.  
"Hey, Pete," Gerard said from where he sat on his bed. "Sorry you had to come tonight instead."  
"It's okay," he said slowly, glancing at me. "I'm glad you texted, though, I can see why-"  
I reached over and flicked his hair.  
"What the fuck, Frankie?" he said, leaning away.  
"Your hair," I said, moving it more, flicking it as carefully as I could. "Your hair is all... All in your face. I can't see your face."  
"Well it's not in my face now that you've moved it."  
I frowned. "Let me fix it, I didn't fix it."  
He rolled his eyes and let me move his hair around.  
"You're annoying when you're drunk," he informed me.  
I took another sip from my beer. "I'm not drunk yet. This is only my- third. I think. Only my third."  
"Yeah, and I'm guessing it's also your first time drinking?"  
I nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Yeah, it's- It's pretty rad. Pretty coolio. It's chill."  
"Yeah," Pete said, flatly. "You're already drunk."  
Pete pointed to the drinks, there were two left. "Can I have one?"  
Gerard nodded, handing Pete a drink.  
"Thanks," he said, going over to Gerard's desk and sitting on the chair there. He nodded to me, but looked at Gerard. "Does he know why I'm here?"  
"He didn't even know that you were coming. I didn't expect him to get drunk, though, so that might complicate things..."  
"It won't be complicated," I insisted. "I'm not complicated. I'm sober. I'm- I'm fully sober." I nodded, holding out a hand, giving a thumbs up. "See? Sober."  
"A thumbs up is your judge of whether or not you're sober?" Gerard mused.  
I stuck my tonuge out at him. "Fuck off, Gee Gee."  
Gerard rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that."  
"Whatever you say, Gee Gee," I said again, grinning.  
Pete kind of laughed at me as I sat on the floor next to Gerard's bed, tilting my head back and swallowing a sip of beer. "Alcohol stings," I announced, closing my eyes. "It's hot in here."  
"No it's not," Gerard assured me. "You're just drunk. Liquid warmth, and all that jazz."  
"Frank I'm here because Gerard wanted the three of us to talk about something important," Pete said, looking at me.  
Was he talking to me? He said my name.  
"Who, me?"  
"Yeah," Pete said. "You."  
"I'm important?"  
Pete glanced at Gerard. "Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, Frank, you're important. And I'm here so we can talk about important things."  
"Important things? Like... Like money important?"  
Gerard sighed. "It's like talking to a child," he said to someone who wasn't me.  
Pete came to sit next to me on the floor, sitting on his knees in front of me.  
"I kissed you today," Pete said, looking at me. "Do you remember that?"  
I nodded, bringing my drink up to my lips. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to remember that. "Yes."  
"I'm here so we can talk about that."  
I frowned. "Kissing is important?"  
Pete nodded. "Yeah, Frankie, yeah it is."  
I nodded, too, sighing. Fuck him. He interrupted my forgetting. "Okay. Kissing is important."  
"So," Pete said, carefully. "Gerard called me earlier, and we both came up with a question for you."  
"Question?" I said, glancing to where Gerard was, still sitting on his bed. "Can we make this a game?"  
Pete rolled his eyes. "Sure. You answer the question, you get another beer. You don't answer the question, we cut you off."  
"I'll answer," I said almost immediately. More alcohol, more forgetting. It was basic math.  
"Okay," Gerard said, speaking up. He moved to sit with us on the floor, too. "Frank- I need to know. I'm going to make this as simple as possible, since you're drunk and basically in the mental state of a fucking third grader. Do you like Pete?"  
"Of course I like Pete," I said, taking a sip from my drink. They glanced at each other so I glanced back and forth between them. "Pete is my friend, of course I like him." I took another sip of beer. "Okay, I answered, I win the game-"  
"Not yet," Pete said. "There's- there's more questions."  
I frowned. "You lied?"  
"No," Gerard said. "He didn't lie, it's just, we have more questions than we thought we did."  
I sighed. "Fine. Fine, more questions."  
Everything got silent for a second and I realized that I was sitting here with two extremely attractive boys- two really, really attractive boys. I took a long gulp from my beer. This wasn't fair. Why did they both have to be so attractive? It was making my insides all achy.  
"Do you like me as more than a friend?" Pete said, suddenly.  
I frowned. "More than- more than a friend?"  
"Yeah, like- do you like me in the romantic sense, Frankie?"  
I frowned. I liked Pete in a lot of senses. "Define romantic."  
Gerard sighed. "Of relating to, or involving love between two people. Making someone think of love. Suitable for romance. Thinking about love and doing and saying things to show that you love someone."  
I frowned at him. "I forgot that you're a human dictionary, Gee Gee."  
"Just answer the question, Frank," he said, softly.  
"I like Pete," I said slowly, not quite knowing what the answer was. "I like talking to Pete. I like Pete's hair. I like it when Pete compliments me. I liked kissing Pete."  
Gerard just looked at me.  
"But you used the word love a lot in your definition," I said, frowning, my eyebrows and nose all scrunching up and pulling together as I thought about it. "Like- which type of love are we talking?"  
"There's only one type of love," Gerard said.  
"No," Pete said, glancing at Gerard. "There's not."  
Gerard blinked at him.  
"There's- there's all different types. There's the love you feel when you hug your mom and there's the love you feel when you eat your favorite food, and those aren't the same things, are they?"  
Gerard faltered. "I guess not."  
"It's song love," I decided.  
They both looked at me. "What?" Pete said.  
"I song-love love you," I told him, nodding. "Like, you know the feeling you get when you listen to your favorite song live? At, like, a concert? It's- it's all warm and happy, and it makes you all excited and floaty? And- and you just wanna', like, sing to it and jump with the crowd." I sort of bounced my hand up and down for effect. "And it makes you happy but it's over too- way too fast?"  
Pete nodded, slowly.  
"I song-love you," I told him. "Like that. Warm and happy and excited and floaty, except, you're not ending too soon, or anything- because you're not actually a song. You're just... Far away."  
"Far away...?"  
I nodded. "Mhm."  
He just looked at me, lips parted in surprise. I glanced at Gerard; he looked like someone just punched him.  
"But I love-love you," I said to Gerard. "Which is different. That's- it hurts sometimes. But-" I took a long sip from my drink. I didn't like talking about this. "I love you," I said again. "You make me feel safe, and you make me happy, and floaty, and warm and excited- like Pete. But, you're close."  
"I don't understand," he said, quietly.  
I sighed, leaning back against the bed, resting my head there. "Pete is far away and you're close," I said.  
Neither of them spoke, and then Pete said, softly, "Maybe we should do this when you're sober."  
I shook my head. "No, no- Just. Give me a second. Let me think."  
They sighed and Gerard stood up. "I'll be back.'  
I frowned at him. "Where are you going?"  
"Outside. To smoke."  
"Can I, too? I don't- I don't want to move, though..."  
Gerard just sighed and before I even realized it, he was handing me a lit cigarette.  
"Thank you," I said, placing it between my lips.  
He just nodded, and left the room.  
I looked over at Pete, moving the cigarette away from my mouth.  
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, quietly.  
"No. You haven't done anything wrong."  
I frowned, holding the cigarette back between my lips, sitting my beer bottle on the ground next to me, standing up and stretching my back.  
I stood there for a minute, just smoking. "You look super short since you're sitting down," I informed Pete.  
"Yeah, well, you look super tall."  
I turned in a circle, tripping slightly over my own feet, until I saw the ashtray next on Gerard's nightstand. I smushed it out there, not knowing what to do with myself then.  
"Hey, Pete?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Can I- Can I play with your hair again?"  
He looked at me for a second and then stood up, moving closer, so I could reach his hair. "Sure."  
I ran my fingers through his hair, lingering on the red streaks. "I like your hair," I informed him. I felt sort of... Dizzy. Dizzy and warm and floaty, and- and fuck. Pete was very attractive.  
Pete pressed his lips sloppily against my cheek and I wrinkled my nose. I didn't like when he did that.  
Well, I did, actually, and that was the problem- it made my insides feel weird. It made me want a lot more than just a kiss on the cheek.  
"Stop doing that," I muttered, sighing. I'd come to terms with the fact that I was, in fact, drunk.  
"I'll stop doing that when you stop being a cute little shit," Pete said.  
His words were slurred and he smelt like beer but so did I- I was too fucking drunk for this. Too fucking drunk for self control, I just barely understood that much. Pete's lips on my cheek felt nice. I sort of stumbled, trying to walk across the room- where were the cigarettes? I needed cigarettes. Another one. My mouth was sticky and I wanted to burn the taste of alcohol away.  
I pointed to the last beer. "You promised me I could have another."  
Pete sighed and opened it. "You're already really drunk," he told me, handing me the beer.  
"But I haven't forgotten yet," I mumbled, taking a long sip. I winced; it stung.  
I wanted to lose that one last little bit of me that still understood that Gerard would be upset if I kissed Pete again, because fuck, I really wanted to kiss Pete again.  
Maybe I was just trying to use being drunk as an excuse, maybe I was too under the influence to understand, I don't know, and honestly, for some reason, I didn't care.  
I just really wanted to kiss Pete again.  
I took another long, burning sip from my beer, and then started walking. I don't know where I was walking, but suddenly, it wasn't easy.  
"You smell like beer," I mumbled to Pete, shoving him away when he tried to help me regain my balance. I wiped my mouth on my shirt, sniffing curiously. I smelt like peanut butter which was fucking funny as shit because I hadn't had any peanut butter in, like, a week.  
"That's funny," Pete said. "Because I'm not drunk."  
"Or not?" I said.  
"What?"  
"You're," I sighed, looking at him. "I think I meant 'you're.' Not- not you're. Or."  
"I'm not drunk," Pete said again. "You're drunk, but I'm not."  
I stumbled, crashing against Pete. I was horny and drunk and wanted to kiss someone, anyone. I wanted to kiss Pete again. Was I drunk enough to use it as an excuse for kissing him? I guessed it was. "Kiss me," I requested. "On the lips."  
"You're drunk," he said. "I shouldn't."  
He put his hands lightly on my shoulders and led me to Gerard's, sitting down. I sat, too, ending up mostly on top of him.  
He rolled his eyes. "I meant for you to sit next to me, dork."  
"Kiss me," I repeated. "I want you to."  
He sighed. "You're drunk."  
I leaned closer to him in an act of defiance. "I want you to want to. Do you want to?"  
He sighed again. "Trust me. I want to."  
"Then do it already."  
"No way," he said, softly. "You belong with Gerard, Frankie. You love him. I'm just a song, remember?"  
I pressed my mouth sloppily to Pete's cheek, as close to his lips as I would let myself get. "I'm sleepy," I announced, collapsing against him. I felt like a little kid, curled up in his lap, his arms around me. "I love you, Pete," I told him, warmly, my cheek smushed against his.  
"I love you too, Frankie."  
"I'm tired," I said, quietly.  
He shifted around until I was laying next to him instead of on him. My back was curved sharply against the mattress. Everything was blurry, my limbs ached, my head was pounding. He was getting further away. "Pete, please-" I sighed. "Don't go. Don't leave," I begged. "Pete, don't leave. I don't like being alone."  
I think I fell asleep, after that.  
\---  
My head was pounding.  
I walked into the Way family kitchen to see a very shirtless, very sleepy looking Pete Wentz making pancakes.  
"What the fuck?"  
He glanced up and gave me a small smile. "Oh, Frankie. Hi."  
"What the fuck?" I said again.  
"You look hungover. Pancakes?"  
I just kind of looked around, scrunching up my nose. "Why are you shirtless in Gerard's house and why do I feel like someone hit me in the head with a hammer?"  
"You got drunk last night, declared that you song-love me, tried to kiss me, and then passed out in Gerard bed."  
I blinked rapidly, shakily making my way to the table, sitting down. "Talk quieter," I said. "And start from the beginning."  
"Last night, I came over and when I got here, you were on your third beer. Gerard and I questioned you about your feelings towards me, and you said that you 'song-love' me. Gerard left for a cigarette, you tried to kiss me, and then you passed out in bed. You asked me not to leave, so I sat there until Gerard came back, and he said I could stay the night if I wanted to so I slept on the couch."  
I blinked at the table. "Oh."  
"I'm sorry last night was so rough," Pete said, sliding pancakes onto my plate. He patted my hair softly. "You're not very good at holding your drinks, are you?"  
"Did I puke?" I asked, winkling my nose, poking at the pancakes with a fork.  
"Yeah," he said. "You woke up after about thirty minutes, threw up twice, and then went back to bed. But you also said a bunch of really dumb stuff after, like, three drinks."  
"Dumb stuff...?"  
Pete nodded, sitting in the seat next to me. "Yeah. A ton of dumb stuff."  
"Where's, uh- where's Gerard?"  
"Outside."  
"Smoking?"  
"Yeah."  
I sat my fork down, standing up. "I'm gonna go- oh fuck." I sat back down instantly. My head felt like someone hit it with a hammer. "I want a cigarette," I said, closing my eyes. "But I don't want to go outside."  
Pete stood up and patted the top of my head lightly again. "I'll go get you one."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Gerard's POV

"Cigarette?" I offered.  
Pete shook his head, leaning against the front door. I noted that he was still not wearing a shirt, which pissed me off. He was in better shape than me and I felt like he was fucking flaunting that in my face. "No thanks. Frank wants one, though."  
"He's up?" I asked stiffly, passing a cigarette for Frank to Pete.  
He nodded. "He doesn't really seem to remember most of last night."  
I nodded, too.  
"I'm sorry," Pete said softly, looking at the cigarette in his fingers. "I'm sorry I kissed him."  
I looked at my feet. "It's not your fault, Pete."  
"Yeah it is," he sighed. "I just should've kept my mouth shut."  
"If I hadn't told him to talk to you that day," I said. "He wouldn't have said anything and stuff would still be normal."  
Pete frowned. "You told him to talk to me?"  
I nodded, sighing. "It was stupid of me. I was just teasing him about it, I didn't expect- I didn't expect for you two to actually go anywhere with it."  
"We haven't gone anywhere," he insisted. "We're just friends, Gerard."  
"But you love him."  
The cigarette between my lips suddenly was not enough to keep me calm.  
"He doesn't love me, though," Pete said. "Not like he loves you."  
"His stupid song metaphor didn't make any sense."  
"It did..."  
I glanced at him. I was normally really good with metaphors, so what was it that Pete could see in Frank's method of thinking that I couldn't?  
"Think about it, like, if we were the solar system, okay?" Pete said. "I know that sounds super dumb but let me explain."  
I just looked at him.  
"You know how Frank said that I'm 'far away' but you're 'close?' I think what Frank was trying to say, is that- if, like, let's say he's just a regular person, right? Living on his planet, minding his own business. And instead of other people on his planet, there's all these stars at night, right? And it's always night there, and it's cold. And then suddenly, it's day. There's a sun, out of fucking nowhere, and it's warm and amazing and Frank starts to depend on the sun, he loves the sun, he needs it... And his life goes on like that, he adjusts to it being day, he loves the sun and he knows it there and he gets used to it. He knows all of the stars in the sky, they're kind of distant and dull, but then one day- just like how the sun appeared, all of a sudden, there's this other star. Not as bright as the sun, but brighter than the rest of the stars. But it's still kind of far off, and it's pretty and new to him, so Frank likes to think about the star sometimes, but- but the sun, is like, his life force, now. He needs the sun, thrives off of it. It's far prettier to him than that star could be, even though he likes to think about both sometimes."  
I blinked. "What are you trying to say, Pete?"  
Pete looked away. "You're his sun, and I'm just another star in the sky to him. To him I might be a little brighter than the rest, but I'm still just like all the others. The only thing he really needs to survive is the sun; The only thing he really needs to survive is you."  
I could've hugged Pete right then, I could've fucking kissed him for explaining that to me.  
"Thank you," I said softly. "Thank you for explaining that."  
He just shrugged, looking away. "No problem. I just... I just want him to be happy, yknow?"  
I nodded. I knew.  
"He's so fragile," Pete sighed. "I feel like every time I touch him he's gonna' fucking shatter beneath my fingers."  
"I've gotten used to it," I said, soft. "I've gotten used to treating him like glass. He's... He's like a time bomb, sometimes, with the anger and paranoia and depression and stuff. Most of the time he's okay, and then- just, just little things set him off."  
"You must really love him," Pete said, "If you know that about him and still put up with it. There's so many people who would just give up on him and walk away."  
I closed my eyes, taking a slow, long drag from my cigarette. Pete made it sound like it was easy for me; like holding Frank when he cried didn't make me want to break down in tears, like calming him down wasn't the hardest thing in the world.  
"The other day," I said softly. "He got angry at me, for practically no reason. I put his cigarette out too soon, not knowing that he wasn't done with it. He snapped, said 'Fuck you,' and started to walk away."  
Pete didn't say anything.  
"Has someone you love ever said something like that to you?" I asked. My fingers were trembling, my cigarette shaking. I pressed it against my lips harshly. "Shoved you away like that?"  
"Yeah," Pete sighed.  
I nodded. "You know what it's like, then. The sense of betrayal. Like, what did I do to him? I love him and he shoves me away. It hurts. I don't understand what I did wrong.  
"He loves you," Pete promise me.  
I nodded. "I know."  
We were silent for a second and then Pete made a small, annoyed sound.  
"I need to tell you something that you probably won't like."  
I glanced at him, and then back at my cigarette. "I don't think the last twenty-four hours could possibly get much shittier."  
"Last night when you came out here for a smoke, Frank asked me to kiss him. He said he wanted it, he said he wanted me to want it."  
I felt every fucking muscle in my body tense up.  
"I didn't do it," Pete said, slowly. "I told him that he belongs with you."  
"Pete," I said, looking everywhere but him. "I think you should leave."  
"Gerard, look, I'm sorry, but-"  
"Pete," I said again, meeting his eyes this time. "I think you should leave."  
He looked at me, sighing softly. "I didn't kiss him, Gerard."  
"But he-" My hands were shaking; I dropped the cigarette and smushed it out with my shoe. "He wanted you to. Stay the fuck away from him Pete."  
He didn't say anything and I was taking deep breaths. I didn't fucking like being violent but there was part of me that was plotting where to hide Pete's body after the murder.  
"I thought you wanted him to be happy,"  
Pete said softly. "I want him to be happy and being with you is what's doing that for him, but if being with you doesn't make him happy, don't you think you should let him move on?"  
"What are you saying?" I snapped. "Let him leave me so he can date you?"  
"No, Gerard, I just-"  
"Want him to be happy. I know fucking know that, Pete, don't you think I fucking know that?"  
He got quiet. "I'm sorry."  
I was running through every calming method I could think of. Count forwards, count backwards. Up seventeen, down eight, up seventeen, down eight. Up to four down to three, up to four down to two, up to four down to one.  
It worked, eventually.  
"I don't want him to be happy," I said finally.  
Pete looked at me, frowning. "What?"  
"I want to be happy. I mean... I mean, of course I want him to be happy, but- fuck."  
He just kept looking at me, so confused.  
"I want him to be happy but I'm human, I have human instincts. You understand that much, right?"  
Pete nodded.  
"I'm human and that means that I want to be happy," I said, slowly. "If leaving me for you would make Frank happy, I want him to do that, but deep down inside that fucking kills me, because he makes me happy and I don't want to let him go. I'm selfish."  
Pete frowned, looking at me. "Everyone is selfish," he said, trying to comfort me.  
I dropped my cigarette and squished it out with my shoe. "Not as selfish as me," I said, softly. I nodded to the door. "Come on, Frank is probably waiting on that cigarette."  
We went back inside; a very sleepy looking Frank was sitting at the kitchen table, poking at pancakes with a fork. I pulled one of the kitchen chairs right next to his, sitting down so our legs were touching. Pete sat on the other side of the table, handing Frank his cigarette.  
"Hey, kid," I said softly, sweeping the hair carefully away from Frank's face, kissing his forehead and passing him my lighter. "How are you feeling?"  
"My head is pounding," he muttered, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. "And I smell like puke."  
"You don't smell like puke," I assured him.  
He rested his head on my shoulder, letting out an agonized sounding groan. "I hate my life."  
I sort of chuckled at him, kissing the top of his head. "It's just the hangover talking, sweetheart."  
He sighed, glancing at Pete across the table. "I'm sorry about anything I said last night," Frank murmured, holding the cigarette between two fingers.  
"It's okay," Pete said, glancing at me. "Do you, uhm- how much do you remember?"  
Frankie shrugged lightly, turning his head so his forehead was smushed against my shoulder. "Can we do this later?"  
I nodded, glancing back at Pete. "Yeah." I smoothed Frank's hair down softly. "Take as long as you need, we'll be here."  
\---  
It took Frank quite a while to get over his hangover, but when he had, he still seemed reluctant to talk about the night before. Pete was sitting in the living room with Mikey- they were watching something on TV and had been talking about some band and I'd never heard of when I left the room, and Frank was curled up in my bed.  
"You feel any better?" I asked from where I sat at my desk, hearing him stir.  
"Sort of," he said, sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, yawning cutely. "What'cha doing over there?"  
"Drawing you," I said. I picked up my sketchbook and a pencil and walked over to the bed, sitting on my knees in front of him.  
I propped the sketchbook up in my lap, pointing with the eraser of my pencil. The page was covered in small sketches of Frank doing random stuff, mundane activities and habits of his that I found endearing.  
"This is you when you first wake up," I told him.  
He kind of giggled at me, blushing a bit. "My hair sticks up like that?" He reached a self-conscious hand up to smooth his hair down but I caught his wrist, bringing his hand close to my face and kissing his fingers.  
"Yes," I said. "And it's adorable."  
He pointed to one of the little miniature Franks on the page. "I like how you draw cigarette smoke."  
"I'm glad," I said. "I like drawing you smoking."  
He raised his eyebrows at me. "Really? Why?"  
"Well, I like watching you smoke, so I guess it's the same reasoning."  
He just smiled at me, stretching up to press a soft kiss against my lips.  
"I love you," he told me.  
"I love you too."  
He grinned crookedly, one side of his smile stretching slightly higher than the other. I made a mental note to draw him like that later. "I love it when you say that."  
"Well, I love saying it."  
He kissed me again, even softer this time, and slower; "I'm sorry about yesterday."  
"It's okay," I promised him. "You didn't do anything wrong."  
"I asked Pete to kiss me," he said flatly.  
I looked down at my sketchbook, flipping it closed. I suddenly needed a distraction.  
"You remember that?" I asked, moving away from the bed and back to my desk.  
He stood up and followed me, nodding. "Yeah."  
"Do you know why you said it?" I asked, keeping my back turned to him, moving things around on my desk.  
"I was drunk, Gerard," he said, soft, his fingers brushing my shoulder. "I was drunk and I was being foolish."  
I sighed. I knew I should forgive him, because he really did have a point- he had been drunk.  
"I don't want Pete," Frank said. "I want you, Gerard." He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his forehead on my back. "I'm sorry if there's been any confusion there."  
"It took you so long," I said, soft, "to be willing to kiss me. You let Pete kiss you so quick, Frank, I-"  
"That's because the same emotions weren't involved."  
I turned to face him and he pressed his face into my shoulder, hugging me tightly.  
"Then what were the emotions?"  
"Imagine that when you were young," Frank said. "You were in love with this girl. And then she kills herself. And without her, you don't want to live. You think about killing yourself; you even try it."  
I rested my chin on top of his head.  
"But then later in life you meet this boy," Frank murmured. "And- and he doesn't talk to you often, you're not friends or anything, but you've talked before and you start to fall for him. You love him from afar for a couple of years; he starts to be the only reason you bother waking up, because you're hoping you have a chance with him. And then suddenly, one day, he hangs out with you at lunch. You get so excited, you think this is your chance... But then, oh. He has a boyfriend."  
Frank said 'He has a boyfriend,' so flatly that it sort of stung, but I knew he was talking about all of this from Pete's perspective, and I could see what he meant. That would crush me, if it had been me in Pete's place.  
"But you and- and this boy," Frank said, continuing. He tilted his head slightly to look up at me. "You get along really well, yknow? And you know he doesn't love you, not in the romantic sense. You know he'll never see you as anything more than friends. But you have to- you have to try, don't you? Wouldn't you try?"  
I nodded, softly. I probably would've tried anyway, too.  
"Yeah," Frank sighed. "And this boy, he- he keeps staying 'just friends' with you. And you realize, eventually, that you won't get him. You're not going to win this. He's very, extremely happy with his boyfriend, and to him, you're just a friend. But you, you're still very much in love with him, y'know? Wouldn't you want to kiss him?"  
I saw Frank's logic. I didn't want to admit it, but fuck, he had a good point.  
If I were Pete one little kiss would mean the world to me.  
"I didn't kiss him because of any romantic feelings," Frank said. One of his hands found mind and he held my fingers, bringing my hand close to his face. He used his hand to close my fingers softly, brushing his lips against my knuckles. "I kissed him because I felt like I owed him at least that much."  
I sighed. He'd told me all this before but I guess I'd been too upset to listen.  
"You promise?" I asked, softly, looking at his hand holding mine. "You promise that's the only reason?"  
He nodded. "I promise, Gerard."  
"Does Pete know?" In was a dumb question because I'd just talked to Pete about this; I knew he knew that Frank didn't love him in the same way Frank loved me. I think I just needed to hear it confirmed again.  
Frank nodded. "He understands, I think."  
I nodded, too. "He and Mikey are still in the living room," I told him.  
"Pete stayed?"  
I nodded.  
"That's nice of him."  
I nodded again, bringing my hands up to press my palms against Frank's cheeks. "I love you," I said, soft.  
He smiled, kissing me. "I love you, too."  
We walked to the living room together- Pete and Mikey sitting on opposite ends of the couch but facing each other, talking about something and making it sound insanely important.  
"What's happening?" Frank asked, glancing around.  
"Pete thinks punk rock is better than classic rock," Mikey said stubbornly.  
Frank stood behind the couch and patted Mikey on the head. "That's because it is, kiddo."  
I frowned. "Ah, actually, I'm gonna' have to go with Mikes on this one. Classic rock always wins."  
Pete rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Whatever, man. Frankie and I know where it's at."  
Frank grinned at this, bumping his hip lightly against mine. "We're winners," he said. "One point for Frank and Pete, no points for the Way brothers."  
"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes at him.  
We were all quiet for a second, and then Pete said; "You guys should come swimming at my place again," he suggested.  
Mikey's face lit up. "That'd be nice. Last time was really fun, Pete."  
Pete grinned. "I'm glad. Now that it's getting way warmer we'll have to do that more often for sure."  
"I really fucking don't want to go to school tomorrow," Frank sighed.  
"Isn't your last day soon?"  
Frank nodded. "Yeah, it's-" he glanced at Pete, raising his eyebrows. "Wednesday, right? Only three more days in hell until summer?"  
Pete nodded. "Only three more days."  
\---  
The first day of their last three days passed awkwardly- Frank reluctantly left for school in the morning, and my mom was off at a job interview somewhere (something involving "we need more money" and "hairdressing,") so Mikey and I were left at home.  
I sat behind my piano; I hadn't practiced in a while. I'd been writing this piece that I wanted to play for Frank, in exchange for him sharing a bit of his own music with me. I was considering using my piano to bribe him into playing guitar for me.  
I also had a fair amount of art stacked up to use for a similar sort of blackmail- Frank had mentioned photography once, way back when we first met, but he still hadn't bothered to share any of that with me.  
Mikey walked in about half-way through the song, so he sat on the floor outside in the hall, knowing not to interrupt.  
He waited politely until I finished the last few notes, and then said, "That was really nice, Gerard."  
"Thanks," I said stiffly. I hated people hearing me play. If I had remembered he was in the house I would've waited for one of the few moments that I'm completely alone.  
I thought it was amusing how every waking moment I had alone in the house was spent on my piano or spent humming some random tune while I made myself a cup of coffee. What did most people do home alone? Probably stuff involving porn, which I found weird because I'd never really been one to watch porn.  
I had no idea where the world's fascination with touching yourself when you're completely alone while watching two other people fuck came from, but I didn't understand it.  
Music is where life is at. Self expression. Every minute I had alone was spent testing some outwardly creative idea that I was too shy to even show to Frank.  
I started to press my fingers against the keys again, but Mikey stopped me.  
"Gerard?"  
I paused, blinking at my fingers hovering above the keys. I really just wanted to play my fucking piano, I had been neglecting it for so long, trying to hide the song from Frank until I got it perfect.  
"Yeah?"  
"Gerard, uhm- Can I get your advice on something?"  
I stood up immediately. I had no second guesses when it came to Mikey and giving advice; he hadn't asked me for help in so long I almost sort of missed it.  
Sitting next to Mikey in the hall, both of us holding coffee cups, the memory of my piano's notes still hanging in the air, everything felt nostalgic.  
It was weird- the house hadn't been so quiet in so long, it hadn't been just me and my little brother since I started dating Frank.  
I kind of missed this.  
I wondered for a fleeting moment about what if I had never met Frank? Would things be like they are now, all the time? Mikey and I talking on the hallway floor and Frank and Pete hanging out together at school?  
"I don't know what to do," Mikey admitted softly.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I've just felt so... Off."  
I frowned. "Off? Are you getting sick?"  
"No, I- well. I don't know."  
He got quiet again and I kept frowning at him. "Mikey, you can tell me anything," I told him. "You know that."  
He just stayed silent.  
I sipped at my coffee. I didn't want to push this but I felt like he was keeping something from me.  
"I feel so numb," Mikey said suddenly. "All the time. What is that?"  
"Numb?"  
"I don't get anxious anymore," he said. "I don't get scared of things, I don't get sad like I should. But I don't get that happy, either. It's all just one big meaningless blob."  
I stared at my little brother. "That lack of feeling," I said. "It's the anxiety. And the paranoia. And the depression. It's all of the shit in life that bothers you. It hasn't gone away, it's just all happening to you at once."  
"And so it just feels... Numb?"  
"I call it the 'blur,'" I said softly. "The numbness is the blur, when everything is evening itself out, when the feelings seem so meaningless that you feel them all at once at even ratios... That's the blur, and whatever comes after is gray."  
"Why gray?"  
I looked at my hands. "That's how it feels. Depression? It's gray. Dark gray. It's like you're constantly trapped between two extremes- on bad days, everything goes completely dark and you just want to end everything. On good days, it's bright and you want to live forever. But most days it's just gray. You're not happy and you know that at any moment you could tip completely into the dark, and it takes a lot for stuff to get bright again."  
Mikey was staring into his coffee cup. "So this feeling of- of not feeling anything. Of having lost interest in everything... That's what comes next? The gray?"  
I nodded slowly, sighing. This wasn't the conversation I had been expecting to have. "Unless you have a way to stop yourself before you get that low."  
"Well, how do you stop?"  
"Do everything I didn't. Don't drink. Don't smoke. Go to therapy, take your pills. Don't help your mom buy a gun, don't learn to shoot the gun. Don't think about shooting the gun straight through your head. It sounds like lame advice but honestly, Mikey, I don't ever want you to get as bad as I am. Fucking find yourself a therapist you like, if you think this is going to be a serious issue, and stick with the sessions. Get better and take your meds."  
"There's no other way around it? You know I hate medication. It's so... Artificial feeling."  
"Find something that's not artificial, then," I told him. "Find a natural happiness. Something that keeps you out of the gray and something that shoves the numb out of you and replaces it with good things."  
He didn't answer for a moment, just looking still into his coffee cup. "I like Pete," he said finally.  
I blinked at him. "What?"  
His cheeks were kind of flushed, his fingers fidgeted around the handle of his mug. "I like Pete," he said again.  
I blinked a few more times. I didn't even know Mikey was into guys. "He's not exactly the same age as you, Mikey," I said, having absolutely no other response.  
He sighed. "You think I haven't noticed that? He's just-" He took a deep breath of air. "He's attractive, okay? And he's nice to me."  
"He's nice to everyone," I said, coming across a little too cold.  
"He's so sweet," Mikey insisted, his eyes desperate, trying to sell me to this concept. "When we were talking in the living room, Gerard- he's so funny and sweet. That day when he invited us to the pool was the best thing to happen to me all year." His cheeks were the color of a tomato. "But he's- he's so in love with Frank..."  
"He doesn't have a chance with Frank," I said sharply.  
Mikey nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but- But he's so head over heels for him, he would never... He could never like me."  
I suddenly realized how fucking lonely my brother must be.  
He didn't go to regular school, he didn't exactly go to parties or hang out at the mall much. And I've been a total asshole of a brother lately, leaving him behind so I could hang out with Frank. The only social life the kid really had was hanging out at the comic book store with the same few people every once in a while; Pete suddenly being here was the only exciting thing to happen to Mikey in a while.  
"Do you, uhm-" Mikey cleared his throat. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"  
I probably would've just choked if I had been eating something. "You think- you're- you love Pete?"  
Mikey shrugged, blushing harshly, looking away. "I sound so stupid," he said, soft. "I'm young, I know, but..."  
"Age doesn't change love," I said. "But Mikey... You barely know Pete. You've only ever met him two or three, maybe four times."  
Mikey glanced at me and then at the wall across from him. "I have no chance, anyway. He's seventeen. I'm- I'm not even out of middle school, Gerard... He's in love with Frank."  
I just kept looking at him. I'd never seen him look so fucking depressed, and it was breaking my heart. "Are you- are you sure it's love?"  
Mikey closed his eyes shut, tight. "Other emotions don't hurt like this," he said, sounding terrified. "When he looks at Frank like that, it- it fucking tears me to shreds... When he's in the room I can barely talk sometimes, I just fumble like an idiot because there's so much I want to say that I don't know how to. When we do talk, though, it's amazing. It's the perfect conversation. When he invited us all over to go swimming? That was the best offer I've ever received. My entire heart felt like it was going to explode from excitement. I want to have more conversations with him and I want to go on dates with him and I want to be happy with him. But I want him to be happy, too..."  
He looked so scared.  
I sighed, pulling him gently into a hug, and we both say our coffee mugs on the ground so he could hug me back.  
"I know it hurts," I said softly, letting him go. "I wish you didn't have to suffer like this."  
He didn't say anything for a long minute, and then, looking down- "W- why does Frank keep the metal parts of pencil sharpeners?"  
I felt every muscle beneath my skin tense up. How did he even know about that? "Mikey, I don't think-"  
"Does it help?"  
"It doesn't, Mikey, I-"  
"Then why do you do it, too? But- but you use a paperclip, right?"  
I stared at him.  
"Because I'm an idiot," I said, shakily. How did he fucking know about this? "Pete isn't fucking worth hurting yourself over, Mikey, don't even consider it. No one is worth that."  
He nodded, looking away. "Sorry, I was just-" He sighed, pulling his legs in, resting his chin on his knees. "I feel so young and foolish," he whispered.  
He was certainly being a little foolish over this, but I wouldn't say he was acting young.  
"I hate how he's the only thing that makes me feel something anymore. I'm-" He pressed his face into his hands, leaning his head against the wall. "I'm so sad, Gerard," he confessed, quietly. "I'm either numb or I'm sad and thinking about Pete is the only thing that makes me happy anymore."  
"Mikey..."  
He sighed again, dropping his hands into his lap, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry."  
"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for."  
"I'm so stupid," he sighed. "Pete is just... He's just a guy, it's not fucking like I have a chance with him anyway. But I've never fucking- I've never fallen for someone this fast or this hard and it hurts when he looks at Frank like that because I know he'll never see me the same way."  
"I'm sorry, Mikey..."  
"I don't even- I don't even know how to talk around him."  
"Just be brave," I said. "Just be yourself around him and be brave."  
He glanced at me. "Be brave?"  
"Sometimes that's all it takes," I said honestly.  
\---  
I ended up doing the stupidest fucking thing I could've done. I called Pete again and invited him to dinner at the diner that Wednesday night. I said it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing but really it was just so Mikey could see him again.  
"Hi Pete," was all Mikey said when we first got there.  
Pete smiled, polite as always. "Hi Mikey."  
Mikey smiled back, timidly. I hadn't told him that Pete would be there.  
Frank and Pete had walked there together; they both look so relieved to be out of school- so they were already sitting by the time Mikey and I got there, on opposite sides of the table. I sat next to Frank and Mikey gave me this terrified glance, his only option being to sit next to Pete. I just blinked at him before turning to Frank. I tried to communicate with him by glancing and nodding slightly.  
Be brave, Mikey. You just have to stay brave. First loves can be terribly painful things and you have to fight through them.  
"So," I said, looking at Frank and Pete. "How does it feel to know you're officially out of school for summer?"  
"Awesome," Frank said. "I feel free."  
Pete glanced at Mikey, who didn't seem to know what to do with himself. "I know Gerard does the homeschooling thing," Pete said. "Do you guys both do that?"  
Mikey nodded. "Uhm- yeah."  
Pete nodded and I had a feeling that this would be the single most awkward fucking dinner of my life.  
Conversation went on like that for a while, Mikey giving two word answers to any questions or comments that went his way, looking way too nervous for this. I think now that he'd realized his feelings for Pete out loud, he was scared to deal with it.  
Frank sent me a glance with one eyebrow raised; he realized that something with Mikey was off but I don't think he could place it.  
By the time we had gotten our food I was surprised Mikey was even still breathing. I felt bad for doing this- I forgot how nervous Mikey could get sometimes.  
I turned to Frank to say something, but then I heard- "Shit, oh, shit, I'm- I'm sorry, I-"  
Mikey had tipped Pete's drink over by accident, right in Pete's lap.  
Pete just kept saying, "Hey, it's okay, no problem, Mikey, I'm fine, really," trying to calm him down, but my brother had pretty much lost it, his cheeks redder than I'd ever seen them. He was standing up, looking terrified; he looked close to tears.  
"I'm sorry," he just kept saying. "I'm sorry, Pete. I ruin everything, oh god, I'm so sorry-"  
Pete just looked at him, still speaking softly, trying to calm him, but he made the mistake of moving a hand slightly in Mikey's direction, a completely normal sign of 'Hey, calm down please," but Mikey completely lost it. He was walking towards the bathroom so he could hide from the situation so fast I didn't even realize what was happening until he was there.  
Pete just faltered a bit, glancing at me and at Frank. "I'm- I'll go-" He stood up, grabbing a napkin and attempting to dab the spilled drink off of his legs. "I'll go get him," he said softly.  
Frank glanced at me as Pete walked away.  
"What's wrong with Mikey?"  
I scratched the back of my head. I felt like an asshole. I hadn't expected this to happen. "He has... He has a bit of a crush on Pete."  
Frank just looked at me. "Mikey is into... Pete?"  
I nodded. "Yeah. Like, completely head over heels for him. He's convinced he's in love."  
Frank let out a soft sound, of surprise and what I guess was slight confusion. "What do you think?"  
"What do you mean, what do I think?"  
"Do you think- do you think Mikey is actually in love with Pete?"  
I shrugged, dipping a fry into one of those little dumb ketchup cups. "From the way he described how it felt, yeah, I think he is."  
Frank was frowning and I couldn't figure out why. "Do you think Pete likes him back?"  
"I don't think so," I said quietly. "They barely know each other, yknow?"  
Frank nodded. "Yeah..."  
"Why do you look so worried?"  
"I'm not worried," he said, blinking at me.  
"I know that look," I sighed. "Something's bothering you, what is it?"  
He shrugged, looking down. He'd been keeping his hair just long enough to be unruly, it was shaping itself perfectly into black curls. It was highly distracting. "It's- It's probably nothing."  
"Frank..."  
He just shook his head, stabbing at his salad with his fork. "Just... Leave it, Gerard. Don't push it."  
"I'm not... I'm not pushing anything." I felt my eyebrows pull together in slight confusion. "I'm just-"  
"You are pushing," he snapped. "Just fucking stop trying."  
"I just want to help," I said, soft, feeling unwanted. "You just- you looked so worried, Frank..."  
He just shook his head. "Whatever. I don't want to talk about it right now."  
I nodded, slightly. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."  
We went silent and I couldn't stop wondering what I'd done to piss him off so badly. I felt hurt, unwanted; like he suddenly hated me for doing something I had no memory of doing. I felt the need to start counting something. Something, anything to calm me down- I settled on the number of people at a table across the restaurant. There were four of them.  
One, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one.  
The number didn't change at all but I kept counting them until I'd forgotten why I'd even been upset in the first place.  
Mikey was suddenly crossing the restaurant, wide-eyed and pale.  
I stood up; he looked like he was going to pass out. "Mikey? You okay?"  
He looked at me, nudging his glasses up on his nose.  
I touched his shoulder, confused and concerned. "Mikey?"  
"I kissed him," he said. He looked fucking terrified, frozen like a deer in headlights.  
"You what?"  
"He- he came into the bathroom," he said softly. "And he was trying to calm me down, and- and you said to be brave, Gerard, so I- I just-"  
"You kissed him?"  
Mikey nodded, and suddenly he seemed to realize the full capacity of what had just happened.  
He'd just had his first kiss, with a boy he loved that didn't love him back; with a boy that loved his older brother's boyfriend.  
I wanted to hug him but he didn't let me.  
He was walking away, shaking his head. "I'll be outside."  
I looked down at where Frank was still sitting. He looked just as freaked out as Mikey did.  
"Pete and Mikey kissed?"  
I nodded, slowly.  
Frank looked like he was going to throw up and the only thought that came to my mind was why the hell did he care so much who Pete Wentz had kissed?  
Pete came walking out of the bathroom a few seconds later, blinking.  
Frank stood up and I sighed. I had a feeling we might as well just leave, so while Frank talked to Pete I put money on the table for the little food that we had eaten and nodded for them to follow me out.  
"What happened in there?" Frank asked before we left the building.  
Pete just blinked. "He kissed me."  
I just sighed and walked out to where Mikey was standing, leaning against the brick wall. I started walking towards Mikey but Pete beat me there; he was standing in front of my little brother, hands on his shoulders, talking quietly.  
Mikey glanced up at him. He looked like a child being scolded.  
Frank and I were barely close enough to hear but I could hear Pete comforting my brother. Mikey just kept apologizing.  
"It's okay," Pete said. "It's okay, Mikey. Wanna know a funny story? I did the exact same fucking thing as you just did only I kissed Frank."  
That had Mikey pausing. He wasn't aware that Frank and Pete had kissed.  
"What?" he said.  
"I made the exact same mistake you did," Pete said, soft. His voice was slow and even and Mikey was looking at him like his eyes were the answer to life. "I know how hard it is to- to see someone you love be in love with someone else. To know that you won't have a relationship with them." He pulled Mikey softly into a hug and I watched my brother sob into this boy's arms; this boy who I'd been so distrusting towards, so suspicious of, so angry about. I admired how Pete had so subtly both comforted Mikey and confirmed that his feelings towards him did not reach beyond that of friendship.  
Pete was a good person, I knew that. I guess I'd just denied it because I didn't want to admit he was better than me.  
If we'd been in reverse positions I'd have done so many things differently. I'd have the boy I wanted no matter what it costs the other person, if some random kid kissed me I'd fucking throw a fit about it.  
But Pete was perfectly calm. He was hugging Mikey, Mikey's face pressed snuggly against Pete's shoulder.  
"You're so brave," Pete told him. "You're so brave, Mikey."  
And I guess at the end of the day, that was the only thing that really mattered.  
\---  
That night, laying in bed with Frank, I finally got the courage to ask; "What happened back at the dinner?"  
"What do you mean?"  
I swallowed a shaky breath of air. "When you realized that Mikey and Pete kissed you started acting weird."  
I knew he was looking at me, his face scrunched up in confusion.  
"Are you in love with him?" I asked quietly.  
"With who?"  
"Pete."  
"Gerard, I-"  
"It's a yes or no question," I said softly, looking at him.  
His fingers brushed the hair away from my face. "I love you," he told me. "You, Gerard. We went over this this morning."  
I sighed, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "But do you love him too, Frank?"  
"I love him as a friend," Frank said. "I told you that this morning, It's not like- Gerard, there's nothing tying me to him. It's not the same as loving you."  
I closed my eyes as tight as I could, letting out a shaky breath. "It shouldn't be this hard to trust you," I said, my voice uneven.  
"I love you," he said, softly. I felt a weight press my body down against the mattress; I opened my eyes and he was sitting on me, straddling my hips, kissing me, his hand roaming softly across my torso.  
"I love you too," I told him, looking him in the eye.  
His fingers danced down my shoulders, his palms resting flat against my chest.  
"Why did you sound so scared the first few times you said that?"  
I sighed.  
Looking at him now, seeing him as just an outline in the dark of my bedroom, feelings his fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, desperate and close and beautiful, and feeling his body weight on mine, I didn't have an answer. How had I been so scared of falling in love with such a beautiful boy?  
"I didn't want to admit it," I said, soft. He was kissing my collarbone and it was terribly distracting. "I always fall in love too fast and end up screwing things up, I end up getting hurt. I wanted to do it right, this time."  
He kissed me, soft, his fingers on my face, his palms pressed warmly against my cheeks. He was so warm, so close.  
I had my hands on his hips, working my fingers beneath his shirt, pressing softly against his spine, trying to drag him closer against me. I wasn't trying to make it any more sexual than it had to be but with his hips moving like that against mine it was impossible to ignore how turned on I was by his closeness.  
I sighed, my mouth slipping left of his, his lips leaving a soft trail down my jaw, down my neck. His breath was warm against my collarbone, his skin was burning beneath my fingers.  
"You're so cold," he breathed out, nose pressed against the hollow of my neck, his lips pressed against my skin.  
"And you're warm," I informed him, holding him closer, tighter, as close as I could get him to be.  
He just sat there for a silent minute, his cheek on my chest, his fingers resting against my shoulders; my hands beneath his shirt, on his back.  
"Are we ever going to have sex?" he asked suddenly, quietly. "I know that's random, I'm sorry, I just-" His lips were on my collarbone, soft, slow, gentle.  
I let my eyes close, thinking about his question. It wasn't something I hadn't thought about before, but with him here, my hands on the bare skin of his back, his mouth working it's way across my neck, I'd never had a more perfect picture of what I wanted losing my virginity to be like.  
I felt lame, realizing that I was eighteen years old and had never had sex before, but I was glad that I was lucky enough to at least be able to save it for someone I loved.  
"But do you think it'll happen?" he continued. "I mean-" Even in the dark, I knew he was blushing. "Do you think we will?"  
I didn't answer for seventeen seconds exactly, my fingers slipping higher on Frank's back. I said back, keeping my voice as quiet as his: "I'd like for it to happen."  
From the angle I was looking at him from, I was pretty positive his eyes were closed.  
"I'd like for it to happen, too," he murmured, his fingers running up and across my shoulder. I moved one hand away from his back, finding his hand with mine and holding his fingers softly between mine. My other hand was still beneath his shirt, resting on his shoulder blade.  
"Uhm-" His hand disappeared from mine, he was peeling his shirt off, softly, and my fingers were helping him.  
"Frank," I whispered, looking at him, studying his chin and cheeks and lips and eyes. "What are you doing?"  
His fingers were nudging the fabric of my shirt up, his eyes fixed on mine. "Is this okay?" he asked, soft.  
I let him slip my shirt off, I let him run his fingers down my chest, down my ribs, down my stomach- but I grabbed his wrists softly when his fingers neared too close to the waistline of my pajama pants. "Not tonight," I murmured. "Not now."  
He just looked at me.  
I glanced down at his hands, pressed flat against my hips.  
"What are we waiting for?" Frank asked, softly.  
It was a good question, and honestly, I didn't have an answer.  
"Frank, I- I've never..."  
"I haven't either," he murmured, pressing a kiss softly against my lips. "You know that. Why are you so scared?"  
"I don't know," I said, looking at him.  
He had his hands on my face, looking at me, chewing his bottom lip softly. "I love you," he told me. "You love me. We've- we've been over this before. We want a future together, we know that, we want to have sex, we know that. So- so why not now?"  
I shook my head, looking away. I was just so nervous. What if I screwed this up? What if he left, like he did after our first kiss? What if I did something stupid or said the wrong thing? "I don't know. I'm being dumb, I'm sorry."  
He looked at me for twenty-nine seconds, his fingers on my hips, now, curling slightly beneath the top fabric of my pants. His skin slipping so low against mine made me take a sharp breath, my fingers tightening on his shoulders.  
"Frank," I said, feeling like I was choking. I couldn't. I was going to fuck this up, I knew it. I couldn't ruin what I had with Frank, I couldn't, I just couldn't. "Frank, I-"  
His hand were gone from my hips suddenly, on my face, and he was kissing my cheeks, listening to me panic softly beneath him; I was pleading him not to, saying how sorry I was for not being ready.  
"Shh, sh," he whispered, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, quickly against my lips. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. Calm down."  
I was shaking my head and he was wiping tears I didn't even know I had been crying off of my face.  
He was suddenly sitting lightly instead of laying, removing as much as his body weight from me as he could, one knee on either side of my hips, kissing me softly, whispering quietly.  
"It's okay, Gerard," he insisted. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we don't have to do this tonight if you don't want to."  
I shook my head, my breathing too heavy. "No, no," I murmured. "I'm sorry, it's-"  
"It's okay," he insisted again. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that, if you don't want to I should've listened. It's my fault."  
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.  
"It's not your fault," I said. I'd finally stopped crying. "I'm just- I'm being ridiculous."  
"No you're not." He was framing my face with his hand, palms softly against my cheeks. "We can wait, it's okay."  
I shook my head, because I could look at him and tell he was disappointed.  
I just couldn't shut my brain up, I couldn't fucking do this right now- I had so many questions.  
"Can we-" I covered his hands with mine, holding his fingers soft against my face. "Can we talk about this first?" I asked, softly.  
He nodded, kissing me chastely. "We can talk."  
I moved my hands to his hips. I didn't want him to move.  
"Why, uhm-" I faltered, looking at him. "Why do you want to do this?"  
Frank blinked at me. "I love you," he said, obviously. "It's- I mean- how do you even explain something like that?"  
"No, I mean- it took so long for you to even be willing to kiss me, Frank. So why this, so soon?"  
He kissed me again, soft and barely there. "I waited to kiss you because I was scared," he confessed, mouth still so close to mine. "I didn't want to get hurt." His fingers were in my hair. "But I know that this is what I want. I want you."  
"You want me?"  
"All of you." He was kissing me again. "I want every single part of you and I want it as mine."  
"I want you too," I murmured. "But I'm just- you have to understand, Frankie." I let out a soft sigh. "I love you too, you know that, right?"  
He nodded.  
"But I'm just- There's so many things that I'm so unsure about."  
Frank pushed my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead gently. "Talk to me," he said softly. "We haven't just talked in a while. Tell me what's on that pretty little mind of yours."  
"I'm nervous," I said, slowly. "For starters."  
"I am, too," he said, smiling shakily.  
"I'm scared that you'll think I'm fat," I confessed quietly. "Once you- once there's no way left for me to hide myself. I'm scared I won't be good enough. I'm scared that I'll disappoint you, I'm scared that I'll screw this up."  
"I don't think you're fat," he promised me. "I think you're the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world. And trust me, you will be the best in the world, Gerard." He kissed me shortly. "I fucking swear to you," he whispered, his hands on my hips again. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I want this to be the best fucking moment of your life, Gerard Way, even if we have to wait a while to make it happen."  
I studied his face, knowing he was being honest about this.  
"I love you," I said, slipping my fingers up his sides, up to his shoulders. I sighed. "I couldn't ask for a better boy to be in love with."  
He leaned into my arms, kissing me, his fingers tangled softly in my hair. "I love you, too," he breathed out.  
"We can try this again," I said, my hands in his hair. "I want to."  
He just looked at me for a few seconds. "You're sure? I don't want to pressure you to do anything you don't want to."  
"I want to," I assured him. "Just promise not to leave? Promise to still be here when I wake up? Promise to not be just a really great dream?"  
"I promise you. I'm very real and I'm not leaving."  
He was kissing me again, and I closed my eyes. We just kissed for a minute, gentle and slow and sweet. He tasted like nicotine and bliss.  
Then I felt his fingers slip down my chest, soft and steady, feeling his way across my skin. I let out a soft breath, shivering at the sensation of his fingers dragging carefully down my stomach, curling against my hip bones.  
I started counting how long he just touched me like that- just moving his hands gently over my skin, feeling, breathing me in, kissing me like I was all he needed to survive. I got to one-hundred and eighty-four before I was too distracted to keep track any more.  
I pressed my hands gently against his hips, feeling him move against me.  
"I love you," he said.  
I kissed him, his bottom lip smooth between both of mine. He moved his hips gently against mine and my lips parted at the friction, a silent plead for something more.  
"I love you too," I said, my breathing low and uneven.  
His hands rested on my hips, his fingers curling around the waistband of my pajama pants again, like they had before.  
"You okay?" he asked.  
I nodded, eyes closed. My breathing was unsteady, but it wasn't the nerves this time; it was the craving, the want, the need that he was creating deep in my chest. "I'm okay."  
His fingers inched down my skin- before I was sure of what he was doing, his hand was a lot lower than anywhere else he'd ever touched me, his fingers warm and gentle and so fucking careful, curving perfectly around my skin.  
"Fuck," I breathed out, softly. He kissed me, his wrist moving, his hand shifting. "I love you," I said against his lips, already so desperate.  
"I love you too."  
I curled my fingers into his hair, holding him close, kissing him, sloppy and needy.  
"Have I ever expressed how much I love your hands?" I asked, rolling my hips slightly forward, trying so hard to feel more, to shift his hand just a little bit faster. "You and- and your fucking hands, Frankie..."  
He kind of laughed at me, silencing me with a kiss. "That was a nice way of me telling you to shut up and enjoy it," he grinned.  
I nodded, my lips parting- I sighed, shaky. "While this is nice and all," I said, closing my eyes again, letting his hand do the work, resisting the urge to move my hips too much, feeling his mouth on my neck. "Are you gonna fuck me, Frank, or is this all I get?"  
He just giggled at me again and pressed his lips against mine.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Frank's POV

I woke up next to Gerard, something familiar to me; but it was a bit different this time. I was half-draped over him, one of my legs tucked softly between both of his, my face was pressed warm against his neck.  
He was so pretty when he was asleep- calm and peaceful, not a worry in the world, his face relaxed beautifully.  
I lifted one hand up to his face, pushing his hair off of his cheeks.  
"You're awake," he murmured softly, shifting. I blinked in surprise, having thought he was asleep.  
"Yeah," I said. I shifted up so I could kiss him, warm and soft and happy.  
He responded to my kiss with a smile, tilting his head and pressing his nose against my cheek.  
"How long have you been up?"  
He shrugged. "Not long."  
I put my hand on his chest. "Did you sleep well, then?"  
He kissed me shortly. "Mostly, yeah."  
I moved my hand from his chest to his face, touching his forehead and cheeks. "You look so stressed once you start using that pretty little brain of yours," I told him. "You look so much more relaxed when you don't stress yourself out."  
He sighed. "I know. I'm not stressed though, it's just- just too many thoughts, y'know? My thoughts just get a little too loud sometimes."  
I sighed, frowning. "I wish I could help that."  
"You already are," he promised, taking my hand in his and kissing my fingers. "I love you."  
"I love you too," I said, turning my head and dancing my lips across his nose playfully.  
He laughed at me, grinning. "You're so cute," he told me.  
I responded by kissing him, smiling back, rolling softly onto my side and dragging him to face me. We just looked at each other for what felt like forever, until he said, "My ass is cold."  
I laughed, resting one hand on his hip. "Put on some fucking clothes, then."  
His hands were on my chest, my shoulders, dragging me back in for a kiss, lazy and easy and sweet. "I was gonna' take a shower first," he said.  
I moved my hand from his hip up to his head, curling my fingers lightly into his hair. "May I join you?"  
His lips floated across mine, like he couldn't get enough of me. "I would like that."  
I closed my eyes, dragging my hand softly down from his neck, skimming down the side of his body. He sort of shivered, pressing closer to me.  
"You're so warm," he murmured.  
I kissed his chin. "Let's go take that shower, yeah?"  
He started to move away, to sit up, but then realized an important thing. "I'm not wearing pants."  
I rolled my eyes. "No need to get all self-conscious, now. There's not an inch of you I haven't seen."  
He just kind of looked at me for a second, blushing. "But it was dark," he said. "And you were a little... preoccupied."  
I leaned up and kissed him. "You're the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world," I promised him. "Trust me."  
He finally gave in and stood up, and I couldn't help but sort of giggle at how pale his ass was.  
"You're so white," I teased.  
"Shut up," he muttered, glaring at me. "You're not exactly tan, either, Frank."  
"At least I'm not the color of paper, Gerard."  
He paused, but then said, "Yeah, yeah true."  
"What was that pause about?" I asked. Watching Gerard walk naked across his room was far more interesting than the conversation we were having, but I couldn't help but be curious.  
"You gave me an idea," he said, glancing over his shoulder at me.  
I raised an eyebrow. "What sort of idea has to do with your ass being pale?"  
"Not me being pale," he said, digging through his desk drawer for something. "The paper part."  
"I don't get it," I said, feeling dumb.  
He held up something and I squinted at it.  
"Paint?"  
"Washable paint," he clarified. "The kind kids use."  
"I still don't get it."  
He just sat the paint down on his desk and crossed the room, kissing me lightly before tugging on a pair of jeans. "I'll be right back, need anything from the kitchen?"  
"Coffee would be nice."  
"Coffee it is, then."  
He left the room, leaving me to stare curiously after him.  
I felt kind of awkward, alone and clothes-less in Gerard's bed, but I ended up just stretching out, tugging the blanket up around my neck. I waited for Gerard, closing my eyes and replaying images from last night in my head.  
Gerard had been so fucking beautiful, black hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks, pale skin such a stark contrast to the dark sheets on his bed. He was so soft, so warm, so strangely fluid beneath me. He'd moved like water last night, like I was the current and every move I made commanded his body. It had been strange and lovely and a total turn on, how easily he let me control the situation, how willing he had been to give in to my body.  
Even if he has trouble expressing it, it was obvious how insanely much he trusted me. That was one of the things I loved about him, though. He trusted me just as much as I trusted him.  
Gerard during sex was a fucking beautiful thing. His lips parted just slightly, his head tilted back, his voice soft and sort of desperate and absolutely gorgeous. He was the most stunning creature on the face of the planet and seeing him so relaxed yet so very tense at the same time was by far one of the most visually amazing things I had ever seen.  
I pressed my face slightly into the pillow, breathing in deep. It smelt like Gerard's skin, like his hair, his breath, like cigarettes and coffee and art supplies and sex and sweat. It smelt like home to me, like all things comforting, like a sense of belonging.  
I belonged here, with Gerard. I belonged in Gerard's home, in his room, in his bed. It was the only thing that felt right to me.  
He came back into his room a few minutes later, balancing two mugs of coffee and a glass of water, a paper plate tucked beneath one arm. I sat up and took my coffee from him, and he sat the glass of water and plate down on his bedside table.  
"What's that for?" I asked, sipping from my mug.  
"You'll see," he said, sitting on the bed next to me, sipping at his mug, too. We sat in silence for a few seconds.  
"Last night," I said, quietly. "That was-" I blushed. "You're so amazing, Gerard, have I ever told you that? You're so beautiful."  
He just looked into his coffee mug, blushing. "You're perfect," he told me. "You're completely perfect."  
I just kissed him.  
He tasted like coffee and like the cigarettes that would probably end up killing us both. I wondered if he could taste his own skin on my lips from all the times I had kissed his neck last night.  
He moved his lips away from mine but kept his face close, his nose touching my jaw. "I love you," he said softly.  
I turned my face, my cheek pressing against his. "I love you too."  
We just kind of sat there, close to each other, until we'd both finished our coffee.  
Gerard sat his empty coffee mug with the water, moving back over to his desk with the plate. I watched him cross the room, curious.  
"Front or back?" he inquired, randomly.  
I stared at him. "What?"  
He held a paintbrush up and wiggled it slightly, not turning around, looking for something on his desk still. "Which side would you rather me paint?"  
I didn't understand. "Gerard, what?"  
He turned around, sort of leaning on one foot, looking at me like I was stupid. His jeans were slung low on his hips, his hair was unruly; he was absolutely beautiful. He held up the paintbrush again. "Am I painting your front or your back?"  
I just blinked, finally understanding. "Me? You're painting me? As in on my skin?"  
He nodded. "Now, front or back?"  
"I, uhm-" I blinked again. "Do I have to lay down?"  
"Yes."  
"Paint my back."  
"Lay down, then."  
I did as he asked, sitting my coffee mug on his bedside table and then stretching out on his bed, folding my arms beneath my head and resting my cheek on my hands, facing the wall. "What are you going to paint?"  
"You'll see," he said, sounding condescending. "Don't ask so many questions about it."  
"What, you don't like questions?"  
"I love questions, you know that, but I don't like questions that'll answer themselves, dumbass."  
"Someone's taken an extra dose of sass in their coffee," I observed.  
He just sort of laughed at me, coming to sit on the bed by my side. I observed what I could of him from this angle, which was luckily most of him, but I couldn't see the colors of paint on his plate. He seemed to notice me stretching to look, so he held the plate at an angle.  
"Are you painting a fucking rainbow?" I asked, sitting up slightly to get a better view.  
He smiled, shaking his head. "Just lay down and shut up."  
I laughed, resting my head back on my hands. "During sex you're a lot less feisty about telling other people to lay down and shut up and a lot more willing to do it yourself."  
All of a sudden there was something cold and soft pressed against my back, between my shoulders, making me curse as loud as I possibly could.  
He just giggled at me, pushing the paintbrush softly down my skin.  
"You didn't tell me it would be cold," I whined.  
"It's paint, Frankie. Of course it's going to be cold. And also, that was revenge for you bringing up my... Trust during intercourse."  
I laughed so hard I snorted. "'Trust during intercourse?' What are you, a fucking sex education teacher? Just admit it, you're totally fucking submissive during sex."  
"Shut up," he muttered, blushing red. "It was just the first time."  
I glanced up, grinning up at him. He was cute when he got flustered like that. "But next time, you're still going to be begging the whole time, don't even deny it."  
"Just let me paint you in peace," he muttered.  
"Fine, fine..."  
I don't know how long I laid there, but it was nice. Gerard's paintbrush was soft and smooth, the paint was cold and wet against my skin. He had the blanket settled just below my ass, and sometimes when he had to lean to reach a certain angle he would put a hand there to hold himself steady. I didn't mind, of course, and it was sweet how he massaged the few patches of paint-less skin on my back when I complained of being uncomfortable or cramped.  
"There," he said eventually, resting his paintbrush in the now murky cup of water. "First layer is done."  
"First layer?" I asked, trying not to sound whiny.  
Gerard nodded, leaning down and pressing his lips against the back of my neck. "Give it a bit to dry," he said, soft. "I'll try to do the second layer faster."  
I just nodded a bit, trusting him. "I still can't know what you're painting?"  
"Not yet."  
I wiggled a bit. "Can you cover my butt? I'm getting cold. Your mom must've turned up the AC or something."  
He did as I asked and then patted the back of my head. "I'm gonna go get some more coffee, okay? Don't touch the paint or sit up or anything, I don't want the colors to smear."  
"Okay," I said.  
He left the room but returned soon enough, sitting on the bed next to me and counting the minutes as the paint on my skin dried, his fingers playing with my hair.  
There was a light tapping at the door and I turned my head awkwardly to face it, resting my cheek smushed against my hands.  
"Who is it?" Gerard asked.  
"Your brother," Mikey said coldly.  
"It's unlocked, yknow."  
There was a pause. "Are you both... Decent?"  
I sent Gerard a glance, trying not to turn my head more than I had to. Gerard's eyes flickered downward to make sure the blanket was still covering my butt and then he said, "Yeah. Shirtless, but yeah."  
Mikey pushed the door open and looked between us curiously. "Frank, you look like a rainbow took a shit on your back."  
"Thanks," I said, cooly.  
He rolled his eyes and then paused, sending us both glares that I'm surprised didn't actually kill us.  
"Did you fucking forget," he said coldly to Gerard. "That your little brother sleeps in the room next to you? I don't want to hear you moan like a fucking prostitute in the middle of the night."  
No one spoke for a moment, but Gerard managed, "Uhm..."  
Mikey glanced at me. "And you, Frank," he said, sounding disgusted. "Keep your voice to yourself next time, please."  
I just kind of laughed, not sure what else to say. "Will do, Mikey. Sorry."  
He rolled his eyes and left the room, leaving me laughing and Gerard with a mortified look on his face.  
"Oh my god."  
I just shook my head, resting my forehead on my hands and staring at the pillow.  
"Oh my god," he said again.  
"Your brother knows we had sex," was all I could say, laughing. I honestly didn't know how else to react to this.  
I glanced at Gerard and he wrinkled his nose, horrified. "He heard us have sex."  
"Next time maybe we should wait until we're completely alone," I decided.  
"Yeah, that would've been good to realize last night."  
I just laughed at him.  
\---  
By the time Gerard had finished the second layer of paint, I was almost asleep. He used one color consistently this time, making me wonder what he on earth he was doing. It felt like an intricate pattern, swirling across my shoulders and down my spine and everywhere else, too, but I had would have no idea what it was until either he told me or I got to see it for myself.  
Being painted by Gerard was almost better than sex. (It's a big almost, but it's still an almost.) The paintbrush was smooth and soft against my skin, and he spoke softly to me while he painted, talking about absolutely nothing but still managing to keep me engaged in conversation. We talked about all the things we wanted to do this summer, about how Gerard was thinking maybe we could ask his mom to borrow the car and we could drive as far south as we could and spend the night in some random hotel, just the two of us. I told him that that sounded nice and he smiled, looking proud of the idea.  
He told me about how he wanted to take me to his grandmother's grave, how he wished I could've met her.  
"You would have loved her," he said, softly. "And she would have loved you, too."  
I didn't say anything for a few moments. "Would you-" I felt like this was such a sensitive subject. "How would you have introduced me to her?"  
"As my boyfriend," Gerard said, almost immediately. "She was always okay with my sexuality. She was the first one I told, actually."  
"Really?" I said, sort of surprised. "If I had told my grandma she would have had me burned for, like, witchcraft or something."  
Gerard laughed. "Are you comparing love to witchcraft?"  
I just kind of shrugged, looking at him. "They both make people do some pretty crazy things."  
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "That's true."  
"So your grandma was... Okay with it?"  
"She was okay with everything," Gerard said softly. I watched him carefully, his hand moving gently with the paintbrush. "She was the only person who ever really... Got me. Y'know? She was the only one who loved me unconditionally."  
"Even- even more than Mikey and your mom?"  
Gerard nodded, once. His jaw shifted slightly and I could tell this was a weird thing for him to talk about. "My relationship with my mom has always been so relaxed," he said. "She's like a best friend to me but she's also still a mom, y'know?"  
I blinked a few times. I didn't know, not really. My mom and I had never been nearly as close as Gerard and his mother seemed to be. "I- uh. Can you expand a little more on that?"  
Gerard glanced at my face, blinking once before going back to his art. "Uh, yeah. My mom, she- she gets me. But she also still looks out for me, more than she should sometimes. When I started with cigarettes, she didn't try to stop me because she understood why I did it. She just sat down with me one day, read me the warnings on the labels and told me about how badly smoking has damaged her lungs. She let me be an adult about it and let me made the decision. And when-" He faltered. "When my thing with alcohol started up, I, uh..." He blinked a few times.  
"Hey," I said, soft, cutting him off. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."  
He gave me a small smile. "It's okay. I just never really talk to anyone about this stuff. It's weird saying it aloud."  
I nodded. That was understandable.  
"Anyway," he continued, hesitant. "When my thing with alcohol started up, my mom went totally insane over it. The cigarettes she could deal with, because it was something she understood but with the alcohol... She never understood. I think she looked at me and saw my father."  
I paused before I spoke. "Your dad drank?"  
Gerard shrugged. "He was a complete alcoholic. Good man, but a complete alcoholic."  
I didn't know what to say.  
"My mom, though, and you know this, enjoys the occasional beer, but she never, ever gets drunk. But after a while she noticed the bottles or cans or whatever we happened to have missing..."  
"And she connected the dots?"  
"Yeah. I was pretty bad with it."  
"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.  
"It's okay," he sighed. "I mean, I'm alright now, yeah? I can hold my beer and I know when to stop."  
"Why did you stop?"  
"Mostly just because it turned me into an asshole. When I'm drunk I'm... I'm not me. I turn into this complete idiot who only cares about himself. Partially because of you."  
"Me? I've only ever seen you drink once, though, and that was the other day."  
"Yeah, but... I'd been stopped mostly for a while before I met you. I had a beer maybe once a week, maybe once every two weeks if I was doing good. Once I met you at the coffee shop that day I just sort of stopped all together without realizing it."  
I blinked up at him, shivering as the paintbrush moved against my skin, soft and delicate. "I love you," I said softly.  
He sent me a small, thankful-seeming look, and a smile. "I love you too, Frankie."  
"Tell me more," I said. "About your relationships with your mom and with Mikey and with your grandma."  
"Well. That pretty much sums up my mom and I. Some things she lets me be an adult about some things and lets me handle some things by myself, other things she flips out over and gets totally overprotective about."  
"What about me?" I asked. "How did she react in private to you bringing me home?"  
"Honestly? She's never really commented on it. She just... Went with it, sort of. Accepted you into the family, just about. She doesn't mind you staying here all the time, when she asks me what I want for dinner she asks if 'that's okay with Mikey and Frank too.' Like she just knows and accepts that you're here to stay."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. She's never questioned our relationship. She never asked me if we were dating or how serious we had gotten and she never brought up all the stupid shit she used to with my relationships, she didn't ask me about your grades or if you were a 'good person' or if I really cared about you. She just... Saw us together, I guess. She's understood from the beginning that we're what's best for each other and the only comment she ever made on any of it was asking me if I loved you or not."  
I didn't have anything to say accept for, "Wow."  
"Yeah."  
"What about Mikey?" I asked. "How did he react to me?"  
"He never really commented much on it either," Gerard said, shrugging. "But then again he's never had much input on my relationships. I think he understands that I've always fallen way too hard way too fast and he's ended up just dealing with it all these years when I lost it over someone I barely knew."  
It was weird hearing Gerard talk about his past relationships. "What were your relationships like before me?"  
"Weird," he said honestly. "Ridiculous. I'm an over-dramatic fool about most of it, to say the least. When people didn't call me back I treated it like the end of the world. Exes who I didn't even care for anymore, I talked about them like they had died or something. I've grown out of that, now. I've realized that everyone before you was just dull in comparison."  
I sort of smiled at him. "Really?"  
"Really," he said, nodding. "I mean, they've all made marks on me, y'know? Some people my OCD got worse after being with them, some made me feel better about some stuff and others worse about some things. But you're the only person I've ever clicked with."  
There was so much I wanted to say but I didn't know how to say it, so I turned the conversation back on him. "What did your grandma think about your relationships?"  
"She stayed out of it, mostly," he said. "But she gave me a lot of warnings that I ignored."  
"Warnings? What type of warnings?"  
"Obvious stuff. Stuff I wish I had listened to. Things like, oh, don't fall in love too fast. Don't listen to her when she says you're a slob, don't put up with him when he doesn't want to be with you in public. She always told me to find someone I wouldn't have to change for, someone who loved every piece of me for what it was. That's why she would have adored you so much."  
I smiled up at him. "I wish I could've met her."  
"I do, too. She's- she's the only person to ever know me better than you," he admitted. "She said when she was my age she made all the same mistakes. She tried to- to kill herself once, but she got over it and fought past that type of stuff. She helped me handle stuff, the shitty stuff, the intrusive thoughts and how much I hated myself."  
His fingers were trembling so much he had to stop painting.  
"Sorry," he said, quietly. He looked like he was about to cry. "Sorry. I don't mean to get emotional about it."  
"Hey," I said, stretching my hand in his direction as much as I could without moving my back too much. "It's okay."  
He took my hand lightly in his, squishing my fingers. "Yeah," he said, soft. "I just miss her. It's dumb, really, I know."  
"It's not dumb," I said, attempting to lift myself up just a bit, using my elbows to support me. "Any emotion that means something to you isn't dumb."  
He leaned down and kissed me, chastely, not so much because he loved me but more because he needed it. I didn't mind. "Lay back down before you screw up my painting," he said, soft, forcing a bit of a smile. "I'm fine, really. I've cried over her enough already."  
I did as he said and laid my head back down, my cheek smushed against my hands again.  
We fell silent for a while and I watched him paint, his jaw relaxed and eyes focused.  
"When can I sit up?" I asked tiredly, after a while.  
"Soon," he promised.  
After about ten or so more minutes, he placed his paint-covered plate on his bedside table, resting the paintbrush in the now mostly black cup of water. His fingers were on the back of my neck, massaging and soothing and sweet.  
I yawned, resting my chin on my hands and closing my eyes. "How long 'till it dries completely?"  
"I dunno," Gerard said. "It's been a while since I've painted on anyone's skin."  
I opened my eyes, glancing at him. "You've painted skin before?"  
He shrugged. "Sometimes I used to paint my hands when I got bored."  
"Really? What did you paint?"  
"Nothing in particular," he said, stretching out on the bed next to me, laying on his stomach like I was. "Sometimes just clusterfucks of colors. Animals, clouds, flowers."  
I couldn't help but laugh, turning my head to face him. "That may be the gayest thing you've ever said."  
"Really? Asking you to fuck me last night wasn't gayer than painting flowers on my hand?"  
I giggled at him. "Okay, okay. You repeating my name, like, a million times may have been a bit more gay than flowers."  
He stretched over and kissed my nose. "Stop teasing me about my begging. If you didn't want me to beg you shouldn't have gone so slow."  
"It was our first time, man, of course I wanted to take it slow." I closed my eyes, laughing a bit. "I can go faster next time, though, if you want."  
I heard him laugh, soft and pretty, his breath warm against my skin as he pressed his lips gently to mine. "I kind of liked begging," he said, so quiet I wasn't even sure if I heard him or not.  
I giggled, looking at him. "You're such a fucking tease. I'm still naked in your bed and I can't sit up or move or I'll screw up the masterpiece you just painted on my back. Don't do this to me."  
He kissed my neck. "Consider this revenge for you making fun of me."  
"I haven't made fun of you," I pouted. "I like hearing you beg just as much as you enjoy begging."  
He rolled his eyes, smiling. "You're an ass."  
"And you're a fine piece of ass," I said, doing my best to wink.  
He just laughed, sitting up. "The paint is probably dry by now."  
I sat up, carefully, very aware of the fact that I had yet to put pants on.  
"Clothes?" I requested. Gerard handed me a pair of jeans.  
"Keep 'em low on your hips," he ordered. "Partially because I really like your hips, partially because I don't want you to screw up my art."  
I rolled my eyes and tugged the jeans on before I stood up.  
He glanced at me, clicking his tongue. "You couldn't have waited a few seconds to put on the pants?"  
"You just want to see me naked," I said defensively.  
"You got to see me walk around nude for a few minutes this morning," he said. "It's only fair."  
I rolled my eyes. "You can undress me later if you want."  
He grinned. "That sounds lovely."  
I kissed his cheek, the paint on my back feeling weird and dry. "Only you can make the word 'lovely' sound sexy."  
He kissed my forehead. "Do you want to see the paint now?"  
"Yes," I said immodestly.  
He took my hand and tugged me towards the door. "Don't hit your back on anything," he told me.  
"Of course not," I said.  
I followed Gerard down the hall and to the bathroom- he paused just outside the door, putting his hand over my eyes, one hand carefully on my shoulder.  
"Really?" I chuckled.  
"Yes really," he laughed, steering me into the bathroom.  
I moved without resistance as he turned my body around.  
"Okay," he said. I opened my eyes, facing him. "Look over your shoulder."  
I twisted my body around as much as I could, looking at my back in the bathroom mirror.  
"Oh, Gerard..."  
"Do you like it?" he said, sounding nervous. "I didn't know if it was too, uhm- too delicate of a pattern, but it worked out, I think..."  
I turned back around and kissed him as fucking passionately as I could, and his hands went to my arms, holding me close.  
I broke the kiss just so I could look at it again, resting my cheek on Gerard's chest and glancing at the mirror the best I could.  
"It's beautiful," I told him, running my fingers down his chest. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."  
Of all the things Gerard could've painted on my back, he's chosen butterflies. There were at least a hundred of them, in all different colors.  
Intricate, delicate butterflies, tessellated across my skin.  
I couldn't stop staring. "How long did this take?" I said, disbelieving. "How long was I laying there?"  
"Quite a while," Gerard said, quietly.  
I turned around and kissed him again, my hands on his cheeks, his fingers curling around my wrists softly.  
"Why butterflies?" I asked, kissing his neck.  
"Honestly," he said. "I don't know. I've just always associated you with butterflies."  
"Really?"  
He nodded. "It's just become a habit. I see a butterfly, I think of you. It's weird."  
I turned my head again to get the best view of Gerard's butterflies gracing my skin as I could. They were all different colors, the outlines of the wings painted in delicate black lines. "I love them," I said, honest. His hands rested on my elbows. "I wish it were permanent."  
We stood there for a few minutes, just looking at my painted skin.  
Eventually, his fingers slipped down from my elbows to my wrists, and I  
turned to look at him, his lips touching mine softly.  
I didn't question it when he put his hands gently on my hips, my breath the only thing hesitant as his fingers moved to get the pants I'd barely been wearing fifteen minutes away from my body.  
We were in the shower before I knew what his happening, the water not on but his back pressed gently against the tile wall, my lips soft against his.  
"Do we have to?" I murmured as he reached to turn the water on.  
"No art is permanent," he said carefully, as the shower water started falling gently against our skin. I watched the bottom of the tub sadly as the colors were already beginning to bleed, sighing.  
Gerard just watched with me, for a moment, until I found myself kissing himself again, my lips on his neck.  
I listened to the quiet sounds he made, my fingers skimming down his chest.  
"I love you," I said, tracing a careful path with my lips across his jaw and down his neck.  
He responded with a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a pleading whimper, and I couldn't help but kiss him again, gentler this time, more carefully.  
We just kissed for a few seconds, but after a few moments he turned me around, running his hands softly down my back.  
I looked at the floor of the tub, watching the colors drip onto the tiles.  
"I wish it were permanent," I said for the second time.  
"No art is permanent," he repeated, his palms moving down my spine, fingers massaging softly, speeding the drip of the paint.  
We just stood there and I let him wash the paint off of my back, sighing. "How did I get so lucky?" I asked him. "How did I end up the most perfect boy alive?" He kissed my back, right between my shoulders.  
"I ask myself the same thing all the time," he said, his arms around my waist. "I think it must've been fate."  
I hummed in agreement, every inch of his skin soft and warm against mine.  
"Y'know somethin' funny, Frankie," he murmured, his lips carefully against my ear.  
"Hm?" I leaned back against him, letting the shower water hit my front and feeling his solid form against my back.  
"Your ass is just as pale as mine."  
I laughed quietly, turning my head to press our lips together. "I love you, asshole."  
"I love you too, fucktard."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Gerard's POV

Showering with Frank was nice. At first I wondered if it would be weird or awkward, naked and standing so close together, doing such a mundane thing, but it turned out to be nice. He kept his eyes on my face, most of the time, letting his hands do the looking at the rest of my body. I was thankful for that, it was like he was reading my mind and understanding how nervous I was to be fully unclothed in front of another human being, in a place that had good lighting and nowhere to hide.  
"I'm in love with your hair," I told Frank, moving wet strands away from his face. We were sitting in the living room, fully clothed again, and he was curled up in my lap. My mom had left for the store, Mikey informed us before retreating back to his room, and was getting us ice cream.  
Frank leaned his face into my cheek, closing his eyes. "I can't decide what I want to do with it next. It's always a scary decision."  
"I like it when it's just long enough to get curly," I told him, kissing the top of his head, my hand touching his cheek.  
He turned his face to press a kiss against my hand before taking my fingers in his. He was sitting sideways, in my lap, legs stretched out on the couch. The TV was turned on, the news serving as easy background noise.  
He rested his head against my chest. "You're warm."  
I wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my chin on top of his head and closing my eyes. "So are you."  
We sat there in silence for a while, just enjoying being close to each other.  
I was the first to break the silence; "I've been thinking about applying for a job somewhere. I mean, the thing with the newspaper comic that I went for- remember that? It feels like forever ago. They never even called me back or anything."  
He kind of shifted, moving his head away to get a better look at me, meeting my eyes. "A job?"  
I nodded. "Something dumb and stupid, probably. At a fast food restaurant or some shit. Maybe the diner if they're hiring."  
He just looked at me. "Why?"  
I looked back, feeling myself blush. "Well, we have to have money, for uh-"  
"We? Gerard, what-"  
"For an apartment," I said, soft, looking at him. I was blushing and I knew it. "I mean, our apartment. That's the plan, right?"  
He was kissing me before I even finished the sentence, his hands cradling my face gently. "Our apartment," he said against my mouth. "Fucking hell, Gerard, I love you."  
"I love you too," I said. He hugged me, pressing his face against my neck. He was so close and so warm and I was in love with how easy it was to be with him, how right he felt wrapped up in my arms.  
"You don't need to do that," Frank said softly. "You don't need to get a job."  
"Frank, I-"  
"You're going to be miserable," he said, and I sort of knew he was right. "I can't see you waking up every morning and going to some lame job like that. Maybe you should wait until you can do something with art."  
I frowned, trying to ignore how honest he was being. He was right, I was going to be miserable if I went through with this. But I also knew that it was the best way to handle the situation. Getting a job now was a lot faster way of getting money than if I waited, and I knew how much Frank hated living with his mom; and I knew my mom wouldn't want us to stay living with her forever. She'd let us if we asked to, but eventually we'd have to get our own place, so the sooner the better.  
"Frank..."  
"If you get a job I will too," he said, tilting his head back to look up at me. "I'm not just gonna' let you suffer through that shit on your own."  
I kissed his forehead. "You're too good to me," I told him.  
He just pressed his face against mine, his cheek soft and warm squished against mine.  
We were quiet for a moment, and then I said; "There's seven thousand dollars in a savings account with my name on it."  
He didn't speak for eight seconds exactly. "What?"  
I swallowed. "Seven thousand dollars," I repeated, nervous. "That my grandma left me. When she first got married she put a lot of money in the bank and just kept it there and when she died it got transferred to me."  
Frank was very quiet. "So...?"  
I swallowed again, feeling fidgety. "If we rented a place for a thousand a month that covers the entire first six months with a thousand extra for whatever we need it for. That gives us six months to come up with the next few month's rent..."  
He was kissing me again. It lasted for twenty-two seconds and then someone cleared their throat on the other side of the room. I parted my lips from Frank's and blushed, looking at my mom.  
"Hi," I said, echoed faintly by Frank.  
She just smiled. "Hi boys. Ice cream is in the fridge and Frank's mom called."  
\---  
Two hours later and Frank and his mom were still arguing on the phone. We were in Mikey's room- he was trying to learn this song on the guitar and I was doing the best to help with with Frank silently putting in his advice while his mom's voice shouted angrily from the other end of the line.  
Mikey strummed the note on the guitar again and groaned. "What am I still doing wrong?"  
I just blinked at the guitar, biting my lip and glancing at Frank. I honestly didn't know much about this.  
Frank glanced between us and then looked at Mikey's hand, pointing at a spot on the neck of the guitar. Mikey raised eyebrows, shifting his hand slowly in that direction. Frank nodded and Mikey strummed the note, his face still unsatisfied until Frank gave an encouraging nod, saying "I know, mom, I know," into his cellphone.  
Mikey practiced the few chords he had memorized so far and Frank just said, "Mom, listen. I'm trying to help someone with-" He rolled his eyes. "Mikey Way, mother. Gerard's little brother. He's trying to learn this song on the guitar and I'm helping him. He's a good kid." He didn't speak for a moment, hesitating. "What? When?" He frowned. "Oh. Just tell him to text me, okay? Or tell him to call or something. Whatever." Frank sighed. "Bye, mom, I- Yeah, I love you too." He paused for a moment, listening to her talk. "Okay. Okay, yes, I'll be there, I swear. And you're sure it's okay if-? Okay. Thanks. Bye, love you."  
He hung up his cellphone, rolling his eyes. "My mom is insane."  
Mikey laughed. "I guess we know where you got it from."  
Frank held his middle finger up, glaring at my little brother. "I am nothing like her," he swore. "And I never will be."  
"What was she going off about?" I asked.  
He rolled his eyes. "She's pissed because I'm never home anymore. She wants me to come home tonight so I talked her into letting you stay the night."  
"I've never seen your room," I realized, blinking in shock. "You practically live in my room and I've never even seen your bedroom door."  
"It's lame," he said flatly. "It's small and the only good part about it is that my mom doesn't get pissed when I practice guitar since I'm upstairs."  
"Speaking of guitar," Mikey cut in. "I think I'm just going to stick to bass. Guitars are bullshit."  
I laughed. "When did you develop such a vulgar vocabulary?"  
"He got it from me," Frank observed.  
"Yeah, I think he's right, Gerard. He's a bad influence. You should kick him out."  
Frank just ruffled Mikey's hair, making him flinch away and nudge his glasses higher on his nose. "You're learning fast, you little shit," Frank said affectionately. "I feel like I should give you an award."  
Mikey just rolled his eyes.  
"Oh, and, uhm-" Frank hesitated. "Pete evidently called last night."  
Mikey froze.  
Frank sort of chewed at his lip. "He's supposed to call or text me or something tomorrow," he said, looking at Mikey. "If you want to talk to him..."  
Mikey nodded, eyes wide. "I, uhm- Yeah. Yeah, uh. That would be nice. Thank you."  
Frank just nodded.  
\---  
The walk to Frank's house was nice. We held hands, walking easily next to each other. "It's weird," I said, "Knowing I'll be spending the night there but not bringing anything with me."  
Frank shrugged. "Half of your clothes are in my closet, anyway."  
"True," I nodded, squinting up at the sun. "When did it get so fucking hot out?"  
"I don't know but I don't like it," Frank said. "It was so fucking sudden, too. Ugh."  
I wrinkled my nose. "The only good part about summer is that I'll get to spend it with you."  
He kissed my cheek. "You have every summer for the rest of your life to spend with me."  
I smiled, nodding. "Yeah, true."  
As we approached Frank's house, he faltered, pausing a bit before we got there. "I don't want to let go of your hand," he said, staring at his house like it would burst into flames if we walked any closer.  
"Then don't."  
He looked at me and then back at his house. "I don't want to have to pretend to not be in love with you," he said, quieter this time.  
I lowered my voice, too. "Then don't."  
He laughed faintly. "I don't want my mom to kick me out of the house because of my sexuality."  
"If she does you can come live with me until we work something out with an apartment. My mom wouldn't mind."  
He took a deep breath and started walking again. "I don't think I'll say anything," he said. "About us being in a relationship. Let's not do anything differently than what we would in your house and if she asks about it, we can tell her the truth."  
"Okay," I said, kissing his cheek. "That sounds like a good plan."  
I let him guide me inside, his fingers tightening around mine in terror. I knew this was hard for him.  
"Hey, mom," he said, as we walked into the kitchen together.  
"Frank," she said, giving a tight smile. "Hi, Gerard."  
"Hi Mrs. Iero," I said.  
"Is Henry here?" Frank asked.  
Mrs. Iero shook her head. "No, it's just the three of us for dinner tonight." She looked between Frank and I. "So Gerard is spending the night?"  
I nodded, even though I was pretty sure she'd been addressing Frank. "Yes ma'am," I said. "We only thought it was fair since Frank's been over at my house so much."  
She nodded stiffly, her eyes flickering to Frank's fingers tangled with mine. He noticed her glance, too, and his hand tightened around mine so much his knuckles turned white.  
"Frank," she said with a positively fake smile. "Show Gerard up to your room and then come back down and talk to me for a moment."  
"But, mom-" He sounded like he was choking.  
"You okay?" I said, soft, interrupting him.  
I squeezed his fingers back for a few moments, reaching my other hand over and touching his elbow softly.  
He looked at me, terrified looking but nodding. "I think so."  
I kissed his forehead and hoped desperately that his mother wouldn't yell at him for that.  
"Frank," Mrs. Iero said, her voice rising slightly in both pitch and volume. "Now."  
Frank just nodded and practically ran away- I followed him up the stairs and into his room, just barely slowing him down with my hand in his.  
Frank was crying. "I don't want to lie about this anymore."  
I just hugged him, not even bothering to look around his room the way I wanted to. I wrapped my arms around him and let him clutch onto my shirt, his face pressed against my neck.  
"It's okay," I told him, pressing my lips against the top of his head, his hair tickling my cheeks. "Shh, Frankie, it's okay."  
"I don't want her to hate me," he said, voice trembling. "She already hates me enough, I can't-" He took a deep breath. "She can't hate me for who I choose to love, can she?"  
I moved my hands up to his face and brought it gently towards mine, placing my lips on his for a short few seconds. "She doesn't hate you," I promised him. "And if she does get mad at you for this and you don't feel comfortable here anymore, you can come live with me, okay? You know that?"  
He nodded and kissed me again, quickly and gently. "I know," he murmured, fingers trembling. "I just wish she loved me."  
I looked at him, sighing. "Oh, Frank..."  
He sighed, too, wiping tears off of his cheeks. "I should go down there," he said.  
I kissed his forehead. "Good luck."  
He kissed my cheek. "Thank you, I'll need it." He glanced around his room. "You can look around if you want," he said. "Just don't, uhm..." He bit his lip. "God, I don't like hiding stuff from you."  
My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Huh?"  
He shook his head, looking at his feet. "Just don't open my desk drawer," he pleaded. "I know I shouldn't ask that, but-"  
"Frank, you don't need to hide anything from me, I-"  
"Just please," he said, as he was walking out his bedroom door, still looking terrified. "Please don't."  
I listened to his footsteps go down the stairs and of course the first thing I did was look at the desk drawer.  
I shouldn't... I shouldn't, he asked me not to.  
But what did he have to hide from me? What could possibly be in a damned desk drawer that I wasn't allowed to see?  
I almost felt guilty just for considering it. I had secrets, too, didn't I? The old journals I never showed him, the art I chose not to show him, the dirty details of just how bad my depression got sometimes that I chose not to share with him.  
But Frank... He never kept secrets from me. This was weird for him.  
I couldn't help myself.  
I held my breath and opened the drawer, not sure what to expect.  
A camera, a few sheets of torn and half-crumpled papers, and- I moved one of the papers to the side.  
"Oh," I said, softly.  
I felt dizzy.  
I turned away, blinking in shock. I knew Frank had scars but I'd never actually seen what had caused them in person, but now there it was, glinting softly against the dim light streaming in from Frank's window.  
It was the part of the pencil sharpener that does all the sharpening.  
I couldn't just... Leave it there. I felt fidgety, unsettled.  
I couldn't just close the drawer and know that Frank would open it again one day, fingers trembling, maybe crying, his body scared and desperate for the silver, the gleam, the cut, the blood...  
I felt like I was going to throw up. "Oh, god," I choked out, softly. I couldn't leave it there but if I took it he'd know exactly who'd done it and I'd be caught for snooping.  
But which was a worse punishment, Frank bleeding lonely on the bathroom floor or him upset at me for invading his privacy?  
I didn't want Frank to hurt.  
I carefully pocketed the silver piece of self-destruction, fingers trembling as I wondered how many times it had torn through Frank's skin.  
He had so many more scars than me, I knew that much. I felt like I would pass out, just thinking about it. I found myself sitting on Frank's bed, my hands shaking.  
I needed him. I needed him in my arms, I needed to hold him, to hug him. I needed to know he was okay. I needed to kiss the pain away.  
I was curled up in Frank's bed. It felt like heaven, there in his room, everything screamed with obvious signs of all things Frank.  
However, that didn't stop my fingers from trembling.  
I tugged Frank's blanket up around me. It smelt like him and like cigarettes, which intrigued me considering he didn't smoke in his own home. I guess it was just a part of him; no matter where he went he couldn't escape the smoke.  
I counted as I waited for him, I got to one thousand and sixty-seven and was half way through thinking the words "sixty-eight," when he walked in.  
I just looked at him as he walked into his own room. He looked at me in his bed and faltered. "So I told her," he said. He blinked rapidly. "And she... She was okay with it."  
I paused, shocked. "Really?"  
He nodded, smiling slowly. "She was bitchy about it but all she said was to do whatever makes me happy. She was pissed to find out that I've been more or less living with my boyfriend without telling her the truth about our relationship, but... I mean, she's totally mad about it but she didn't kill me or anything so I guess it's alright."  
"That's good."  
He nodded, grinning. "You're the only thing she's ever approved of."  
I moved over on the bed and he settled in next to me, hugging me and nuzzling his face into my neck.  
"I love you," he said.  
I held him close, looking at the ceiling as he hugged me.  
He was very quiet for a few moments before he realized that I hadn't said it back.  
"Gerard?" he said softy, shifting. "Hey, you okay?"  
I nodded and we both moved around a bit, laying on our sides and facing each other.  
"I love you too," I said.  
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. "You look bothered," he observed.  
I just looked at him, sighing, studying his face. Honey-hazel eyes, butterfly lips, hair that curled at just that perfect angle... But I knew behind all that he wasn't as beautiful as the image he reflected out for the world.  
Frank was scarred, he was damaged. He had a mother who didn't love him and a father that he had never known. He didn't have many friends- me, Mikey, and Pete more or less made up his entire social group. He was depressed, he didn't like his body, he had the lowest self-esteem of anyone I'd ever known.  
And he hurt himself because of that.  
For some unknown reason, he blamed himself for the way the world had screwed him over.  
His insides, his mind- they were fucked up. I knew that. Frank Iero was the only person on earth who was maybe just as fucked up as me.  
But I loved him for that. I loved him for his issues, his problems, his self-hate. It was the things that made him so screwed up that made him even more beautiful to me.  
"I looked in the drawer," I said.  
His lips parted instantly in protest, he was speaking but I wasn't listening, I was talking too.  
"Frank," I said. "Frank, don't get upset with me, please-"  
"-invasion of privacy!" he was saying at the same time. "Gerard, fuck, I-"  
I held his wrists, efficiently silencing him. "I love you," I said, sternly. "Fucking listen to me, okay?"  
He just stared at me.  
"I love you, Frank Iero," I said, my voice soft. "I don't ever want you to hurt, especially not from a self-inflicted wound."  
I watched him as he reacted, closing his eyes, swallowing a breath of air so deep I saw it move down his throat.  
"I love you too," he said, carefully. "But, Gerard, I asked you not to look in the drawer. I asked you not to do something and you did it anyway. Why'd you have to look in the fucking drawer?"  
I sighed. "We shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other."  
He sighed, too. "I know Gerard, but- it's not anything that you didn't already know about."  
I kissed his cheek, gentle. "It's in my pocket," I said. He was trembling. "Is that okay?"  
He pressed his forehead against my chest, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. "Gerard, you don't understand-"  
"I just want to help."  
"I just want to hurt."  
I hugged him closer, not sure what else to do. "You deserve so much better than that, Frank."  
He was taking deep breaths. "I don't want you involved in this," he said. He was shaking his head. "I don't want you to have to put up with my self-loathe. I don't want to be a burden."  
"Oh my god," I murmured. I put my hands on his face, tilting it back to make him look at me. He shifted until he was comfortable, staring at me. "Oh my fucking god," I said again.  
"Wh- what?"  
"You're not a burden," I told him. "You have never been a burden and you are not one now and you never will be." His eyes had that strange, wet look about him that meant he felt like crying. "You are not a burden," I repeated. "I love you and the only burden here is your own, the only burden is your unhappiness."  
He was just looking at me. "Gerard..."  
"I want you to be happy," I whispered.  
He moved his hands shakily to my face, his fingers cradling my cheeks. "Thank you," he said, kissing me.  
I kissed back, moving my hand to the back of his head to hold him there.  
"Will you help me- Will you help me quit hurting myself?" He rested his forehead against mine. "I want to get better," he said softly. "If you think I should."  
"I think you should," I said immediately. I faltered. "This- it's not going to be easy, you know that, right?"  
"I know."  
He kissed me again.  
"Thank you."  
"Anything for you," I murmured back, pressing my face against his.  
\---  
Sleeping at Frank's house was lovely. Frank's mom went to Henry's house after a slightly awkward dinner that involved her asking a lot of weird questions about our relationship, so we had the place to ourselves.  
We stayed up late that night- I listened to him play guitar for at least an hour.  
"I've been, uh-" He smiled nervously, pausing. "I've been trying to write lyrics to go with this."  
We were sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. "Will you sing for me?"  
He blushed. "I've never really sung for other people besides myself," he admitted.  
"Please?"  
He sighed, strumming a note on his beloved acoustic guitar. "I haven't really worked out the whole song though."  
"Improvise," I suggested.  
He rolled his eyes. "Only because I love you."  
I grinned and kissed his cheek.  
He started the song on the guitar, nodding softly as he settled into the music, and then broke off into singing.  
His singing voice was so sweet, it had a slight whine to it, and he closed his eyes when he sang.  
His voice was sweet and soft and lovely and it made me want to kiss him.  
I let him get about half way through the song before I had to stop him.  
He blinked his eyes open in surprise as I took the guitar from him, laying it on the floor.  
"What's wro-?"  
I was already kissing him before he could even ask for an explanation. He made a low, soft, surprised sound in the back of his throat, but let me kiss him anyway, closing his eyes and reaching his hands up to my hair.  
We just kissed for a little while, and then I said, "I fucking love your voice."  
I was standing, pulling him with me.  
"This is the first time we've ever been alone in my house," he pointed out.  
I sat on his bed, dragging him down with me as I leaned backwards. He just smiled as my head hit the pillow and he was on top of me, straddling my hips and kissing me again, making a soft sound that sort of made me want to have sex with him right then and there.  
"I love your voice," I mumbled again, struggling with Frank's shirt.  
He laughed at me, cute and happy. "Are you trying to tell me to be more vocal from now on?"  
I nodded and let his shirt fall to the floor. "Please."  
"Anything for you," he said, kissing my jaw. His hands were on my hips, my chest, peeling my shirt away from my skin, over my head. "I love you."  
I curled my fingers into his hair and dragged his head back close to mine. "I love you too," I said, kissing him.  
\---  
We ended up falling asleep before anything too serious happened, Frank's head tucked softly against my shoulder. It was weird falling asleep in his bed; I almost didn't. It was strange for me to be anywhere but my own home in the middle of the night.  
Frank woke up around two in the morning, though, talking softly about how I needed to rest, so I'd tried my hardest to sleep for him.  
He woke up around noon the next day to find me sitting on his desk, papers and such all moved to make room for my folded legs. I hadn't bothered to put my shirt back on, his house got pretty fucking warm at night.  
I was going through his camera, hoping he wouldn't mind. When he woke up he sort of coughed at me like I should be feeling guilty for it, but honestly the quality of the pictures was worth him being pissed at me.  
"Gerard," he snapped, eyes wide but still tired. "What the fuck?"  
I just glanced over at him, grinning. "You're a really good photographer, Frank," I said honestly.  
He glared at me. "If you keep invading my privacy I'm fucking throwing you out of my house."  
"You wouldn't do that," I said, raising my eyebrows at him. "You love me too much."  
He rolled over and made a grumpy sounding noise that told me I was right. "What picture are you on?" he asked, giving in to accepting my curiosity.  
"There's a lot of snow," I said. I pressed the button to flip to the next picture. "It looks like you were in a park or something." I clicked the button again. "Oh, I really like this one."  
He rolled back over to face me. "Which one?"  
I slid my legs off the desk and crossed the room to sit on the bed with him, tilting the camera so he could see.  
"Oh, yeah," he said. "The scarf in the snow. I remember when I took that."  
The picture was simple, really; just a basic snow scene of a park filled with trees, a small metal bench in the left of the photo. The interesting part of it was the red scarf that was draped over the bench, soggy and dotted with snow. It stood out stark against the otherwise mostly monotone photo.  
"Who's scarf is that, is it yours?"  
Frank shook his head, sitting up and rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his fingers. "I have no idea, it was already there when I took the picture."  
"Huh," I said. I passed him the camera. "You're really good at photography," I said for the second time. "Why haven't you shown me that before?"  
He shrugged, messing with a few buttons on the camera, flipping it around to inspect the front for a few moments before going to the back again to press more buttons. "It's sort of embarrassing," was all he said.  
"How on earth is that embarrassing?"  
He shrugged again, glancing at me. "I take pictures of random shit in my free time instead of hanging out with the friends that I don't actually have. It's lame."  
"No it's not," I insisted. "It's art."  
He held the camera up, pointing it at me. "Smile."  
I rolled my eyes but grinned at him, hearing the small click of the camera. He turned it so I could see my face on the little digital screen. "You're pretty," he said.  
"Thank you," I said back, even though I didn't agree.  
He handed me the camera and let me take a picture of him. "You're prettier," I said, handing him back the camera.  
He blushed as he sat there and fiddled with the camera for a moment. "My mom still isn't home, I guess."  
"Yeah. How long have you had that camera?"  
"Two years now, I think. It's got, like, thirty different settings on it. For portraits, landscapes, stuff at night, snow scenes, bright lighting, low lighting, back lighting..." He glanced up at me with a small smile. "I started saving up money for this camera when I was, like, five."  
"That's dedication," I said, nodding in admiration.  
Frank kind of laughed. "Yeah." He glanced over at me again. "I have an old Polaroid camera in my closet... Fresh roll of film, y'know? I've been saving it for something special."  
"Yeah?"  
The way he talked about his cameras made them sound like something sexual.  
He leaned over and kissed me. "I've always wanted to take pictures of you with it," he said, like it was a confession. He lifted his left hand up to my chest and let his fingers brush across my collarbone, right hand on his bed, supporting his weight as he leaned towards me. "Pale skin looks so fucking gorgeous on camera."  
I leaned into another kiss, his fingers on my collarbone, delicate and careful.  
"I'd be, uh- I'd be a perfectly willing model."  
His palm was flat against my collarbone, now, his fingers warm against my skin. "Stay here," he murmured, kissing my jaw. "Don't move a fucking inch."  
I just nodded and did as he asked, watching him cross the room.  
"So you've been into photography for a while, then?" I asked quietly.  
"My whole life," he said, nodding, digging through things in his closet. "I got one of those disposable cameras when I was four, and got one every year on my birthday until I was able to buy the digital and the Polaroid." He turned back around to face me, Polaroid camera in hand. "Smile."  
I did as he asked and tried not to blink at the bright flash and the sound of the camera. The Polaroid pushed the photo out the front immediately and Frank laid it out on his desk.  
He came back over to the bed and stood in front of me. "Look straight forward," he said. He pointed to the little dip in skin at the bottom of his neck. "Right here. Your nose is cute from this angle."  
I sort of laughed, but I did what he said and waited for the flash to go off before I looked back up at him. He laid the Polaroid photo on the ground. "Lean back."  
I did as he asked and laid back on his bed; he sat himself on my hips like he had last night, one knee on either side of my body.  
"You're so pretty," he said, taking another picture of me. When the picture rolled out of the camera he sat it on the bed next to us. He looked fucking adorable behind the camera, like it's where he belonged. He looked as comfortable with the camera in his hands as he did with a guitar, something I'd never really seen before now. He looked content, happy; natural, almost. Like the camera was supposed to be in his hands all the time and he felt better when it was there.  
I held my hands out, wanting to try it myself, and he passed the camera.  
"Run your hand through your hair," I requested. He did as I asked and I grinned, snapping the picture. "I love it when you do that," I admitted, laying the picture on the bed next to the one he'd taken of me.  
He rested his hands on my hips. "Can I take off your pants?"  
I laughed. "You don't have to ask. I think these are your pants, anyway, they're too tight."  
He grinned and moved his fingers to my jeans, carefully undoing the button. I took a picture of him; he looked so cute like that, head tilted down, hair hanging in perfect, soft curls.  
By the time he'd gotten both my pants and his off I'd already taken two more pictures of him.  
"Hand me the camera," he said, one hand on my hips. I did as he asked and he took a picture of me without warning, balancing the camera carefully in one hand. "Close your eyes," he ordered softly.  
I did as he asked, humming as he let his hand slip lower than hips. I heard the click of the camera and saw the light change briefly as the flash went off, and I heard the gentle sound of the picture rolling out of it. I didn't bother questioning how he managed to get the picture out of the camera and to a safe place to develop with both hands occupied, and to be honest I didn't really care.  
The only thing that mattered right then was how soft and warm his skin against mine was.  
I heard the click again, and saw the flash, and I heard the picture roll out of the camera.  
His hand was warm, gentle.  
Heard the click, saw the flash, heard the roll.  
His fingers curved carefully.  
Click, flash, and roll.  
I parted my lips without meaning to, sighing.  
Click, flash, roll.  
"I fucking love your hands," I mumbled, curling my own fingers into the sheets.  
Click, flash, roll.  
He didn't take any more pictures for a few minutes, putting all of his focus on that one fucking hand of his.  
I made a noise without meaning to, soft and low and needy.  
Click, flash, roll.  
"You're so pretty," was all he said. "So fucking pretty."  
Click, flash, roll.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty - Frank's POV

Gerard was on his side, his mouth opened, black hair unruly. He was sort of snoring which was cute, considering I'd never really heard him snore before. I lifted my hand and touched his cheek, soft, his pale skin smooth beneath my fingers.  
His eyelids fluttered, like he wanted to wake up but was just too tired to, and I shushed him, kissing his nose. He was so cute when he was sleeping. It'd been two months since he last slept in his mother's house and something about the change of scenery and the way my knees fit snuggly against his at night was helping him sleep.  
I let my palm rest on the side of his face, my thumb touching his cheek.  
"Hey, Gerard?" I said, soft. His lips sort of twitched, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting of our bedroom. I patted his cheek with my fingers. "Hey, Gee, wake up, you fucking cutie."  
He blinked his eyes open slowly, lips curving up in the cutest little smile when I pressed a kiss against his nose.  
"You haven't called me Gee in a while," he kind of laughed, tired.  
"I know," I said, looking at him.  
His eyebrows pulled together in that sleepy, confused, really fucking adorable way. "Wait, wait. Is everything okay? Why'd you wake me up?"  
"Everything is fine," I assured him.  
We had moved Gerard's bed from his mother's house to here, our apartment. The sheets were dark black and the room was white, there were stacks of books and Gerard's art all over the floor. My guitar was leaning against the wall by the door and the only form decoration in the room were pictures that Gerard had tapped up while I'd made lunch last Wednesday, pictures that I'd taken of us and drawings that he was proud of. Our closet was on the wall opposite the bed, and there was a tall window about two feet above mine and Gerard's heads.  
"I was just wondering," I said, softly, looking at Gerard. "Are we, uhm- are we ever gonna' get married, Gerard? Are you gonna' marry me?"  
He just looked at me for a few seconds, like this was some sort of mystery that my eyes would hold the answer to. "'Are you gonna' marry me,' sounds a lot like 'will you marry me?'" he whispered.  
I blinked, pushing dark strands of hair off of his forehead with my fingers. "Well," I said, breathing the word out, sort of terrified. He was looking at me with those damn sweet brown-green-hazel-fucking-gorgeous eyes of his. "Will you?"  
His lips brushed against my mouth, his eyes focusing on mine, his face still so tired. "Of course I'll marry you."  
I was pulling him into a hug before he even finished the sentence and he chucked at me, draping a tired arm over my waist.  
"I love you," I said, kissing every inch of skin on his face and neck that I could reach.  
"I love you, too." He pressed his face against my neck and mumbled, tired; "Frank, I'm sleepy, can you finish kissin' me later?"  
I laughed and held him close. "Yeah, I can finish kissing you later."  
He made a content noise, his lips brushing against my collar bone, and then he fell asleep again.  
\---  
I woke up the next morning to the sound of a piano.  
When we'd moved the first thing Gerard had asked was if he could put his piano in the living room, and of course I had told him yes. It wasn't even really in the living room, though, it was against the wall in the dining room, beneath this window that Gerard was in love with because it overlooked this little courtyard that had a fountain in the middle of it.  
"Babe," I yelled across the house, laying my arm across my face to block the light streaming through the window. "Shut up."  
The piano stopped and I could hear him laughing at me. "What, you don't like my music?"  
I rolled my eyes at my own skin. "I love your music," I said, hearing his footsteps near the bedroom door. "You know that."  
I lifted my arm a fraction of an inch to look at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, dark hair falling in soft strands around his face. He had on skinny jeans and white socks and a button-up white shirt and he looked completely fuckable.  
"Damn," I said. "I love your hair like that."  
He grinned. "Yeah? I sort of like it too."  
"It's very artist-y," I told him. "You look like you should be a teacher or something. An art teacher."  
He raised his eyebrows at me. "Does someone have a teacher fetish that I didn't know about?"  
I let my arm cover my eyes again. "No. It's just a very attractive look for you."  
"Really, calling me Mr. Way and fucking me over a desk wouldn't turn you on?"  
I rolled over and he chuckled at me.  
"It's like, noon, babe," he said.  
"I've been asleep forever, whoa."  
"Exactly. Get up, I made you breakfast."  
I grinned, rolling back over so that I could look at him. "So, basically you made coffee and bought a fresh pack of cigarettes?"  
He smiled back. "Yeah, exactly. I'm a perfect boyfriend, I know."  
I laughed, sitting up and running my hand through my hair, like I could push the sleep out of my brain. "That's true, actually."  
"C'mon," he said, as I stood up. "Before the coffee gets cold."  
I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, my socks slipping warmly against the brown carpet. I realized then that the carpet wouldn't stay new forever, it already needed to be vacuumed. I wondered if Gerard would help me do it or if I would end up doing it myself one day when he wasn't home. We had a small apartment so hopefully it wouldn't take long. That was part of the good thing about us not being able to afford much, it meant we had less to take care of.  
"Hey, Gerard?" I asked, standing next to him by the counter. The counters were pale gray, and the kitchen walls were a soft, eggshell white. Gerard had been talking about maybe painting them blue, like a light blue. A baby bird blue, he'd called it, like the pastel feathers of a blue bird.  
He poured me a cup of coffee, passing it to me and letting our hands touch.  
"Last night you were sort of half-asleep," I said, "But do you remember, uhm. Well."  
He was looking at me from behind his mug, eyebrows raised, and right then he looked very grown up and I felt very grown up and I suddenly realized that the words coming out of my mouth were incredibly adult.  
He lowered his cup as I spoke.  
"You were sort of half asleep," I said again, trying not to sound too scared. "But I asked you to marry me."  
Gerard nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah you did."  
I stared at him and he stared back and I felt like everything from my previous high-on-happy was crashing at once, because /fuck,/ oh god, oh fuck, I was so young. I was only seventeen, not even out of high school yet, and here I was asking someone who was a legal adult to spend the rest of his life with me.  
I was standing in my apartment with a man that I was in love with and he had to go to work in an hour, he had gotten a job at a comic book store downtown last month, and I had to go talk to someone about buying furniture later today because we didn't have a dining room table. I don't think I'd ever felt more grown up than I did standing there drinking coffee and watching Gerard sip at his.  
"Do you ever think we moved too fast?" I asked, and the weight of the words felt crushing, because I so knew we had.  
Gerard's expression turned a bit to mush and I couldn't tell what he was thinking, which was a rare occurrence.  
"Sometimes I wonder if we did, yeah," he admitted. "We haven't even known each other a year. Hell, it's been- what, eleven months since October? We've known each other eleven fucking months. But I can't imagine living any way but with you."  
"Do you think we should wait?" I asked, my fingers curling tighter against my mug. "I mean, to get, uhm-"  
"Should we wait to get hitched?" he asked, smiling slightly. I nodded and the smile faded, his shoulders rising and falling in a soft shrug. "Whatever you want to do," he said. "I'd wait forever if you wanted me to or I'd do it tomorrow if it would make you happy. But, yeah, we should probably wait until you're out of high school. It's gonna' be your senior year and a lot can change during that, y'know?"  
I nodded again and said, "I suddenly feel so young," and I sounded like I was choking.  
He reached over and pushed hair away from my face. "You're seventeen," he said, like he was agreeing. "You can figure out a lot about yourself in seventeen years but you still have a lot of lessons on living left to learn. Both of us do."  
I looked down into my coffee mug like the brown liquid would take away the pain in my chest and I suddenly wanted to get drunk, I wanted to call Pete and beg him to get beer from somewhere and let me sleep on his bedroom floor and drown the troubles away. "You're only eighteen," I told him. "But, Gerard, you can do anything you want. You're an amazing artist and you're so good at piano and you could go so far with whatever you want to do and-"  
His hand was touching mine, but it wasn't sexual and it wasn't friendly, it was just there, it was him touching me and I felt like crying because, oh god, he had so much more potential than I ever could and what if one day he decided he didn't want me anymore because I was holding him back?  
"Frank, look at me," he said. I sighed and looked up. He looked just as scared as I felt and for some stupid reason that was reassuring to me.  
"Let's think about this," he said, voice soft. "We've known each other for eleven months, yeah? We've been dating for the majority of that."  
I nodded and my heart was beating so fast it felt like it would fall out of my chest.  
"If you want to wait," he told me. "We can wait. If you don't want to live here that's completely understandable, too, it happened really fast and-"  
"I don't want to go back to my mom's house," I interrupted, shaking my head. "I've been wanting to leave since I turned ten and if I have this opportunity to live with you I'm going to take it."  
He nodded. "Okay. But just listen for a minute, okay? You need to hear this. Everything has happened fast, you're right about that. If there comes a day when you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you. We're both just- gosh, we're both just kids, Frank. If we end up not working out then I don't want to hold you back from anything you want to do."  
Gerard placed a kiss softly on my forehead and I wanted to kiss him back and that's when the thought struck me that maybe this was just lust and infatuation, because fuck, what did love feel like?  
I wanted to kiss him all the time so did that mean I just wanted the idea of romance or did that mean I loved him?  
But it was more than just kissing, I knew that. Gerard was much more than just a boyfriend to me, he was a lot more than someone to kiss and touch and whine about my problems to. He made me feel better and when he wasn't around I felt this aching hole in my chest, when he was upset I wanted to give him the world. His emotions and his feelings controlled mine and if that wasn't love, if the way not being able to touch him when he wasn't in the room made my every limb ache wasn't love, I was pretty sure I would want to kill myself before I ever loved anyone. If there was an emotion stronger than what I felt for him, it would probably destroy me.  
"C'mon," he said, and there was a cigarette being pressed against my palm. "You need to calm down, you look like you're going to puke."  
I stared at the cigarette and with the weight of all this realization pressing down on my shoulders came the fact that everything tasted like cigarettes to me and my lungs never felt clear.  
I looked at Gerard and then at the cigarette and I wanted to fucking kill myself because I knew the cigarettes had already started the job.  
"I love you," I told him, but I wished he had said it first.  
He kissed the top of my head. "I love you, too."  
We went back to the bedroom and sat on the floor, we were drinking coffee and smoking in our socks and something about that just felt right. "You talk like you'd been thinking about all this already," I accused him.  
Gerard shrugged, looking at the cigarette in his hand instead of at me. "I've kind of been thinking about it since we first talked about moving in together. I mean, it just feels sort of soon compared to what I've heard about other people's relationships."  
I blinked at him. "Like, too good to be true."  
He looked at me and smiled a soft smile. "Yeah. It's all totally too good to be true. Sometimes I still wonder if this is just a dream."  
"If it is, I never want to wake up."  
His foot brushed against mine. "Yeah. We're young and in love. So far everything has worked out so well."  
"Yeah," I said.  
We were quiet for a minute, and then he said, "I was thinking we should invite Pete and Mikey over for dinner sometime next week, or something."  
I raised my eyebrows at him. "What's going on between those two, anyway? I can't get a word out of Pete about it."  
"From what Mikey's said, they're not dating 'cause of the age difference."  
I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah, that's like, what? Three, four years?"  
"Yep. But, when you think about it, if they just wait a few years, it wouldn't be half as bad. Right now it's kind of awkward since Mikes was just a kid a couple of years ago but if you think ahead, when he's twenty-two and Pete is twenty-five or twenty-six it won't seem nearly as weird."  
"So you're okay with it, then?"  
Gerard shrugged, cigarette between his lips. "Not exactly. If Pete is what Mikey wants, I don't want to stop him, but I don't want him to get hurt, y'know? The age difference at the time being really freaks me out. He doesn't really hang out with kids his own age so I'm worried he's clinging to false hopes."  
"Pete wouldn't hurt him," I assured Gerard. "And if he did I would punch him in the fucking face."  
Gerard grinned. "And all this time I thought Mikey got on your nerves."  
I smiled back. "He can be obnoxious but he's a sweet dude. Him and Pete both."  
"Yeah," Gerard said. "They're both alright, I guess."  
\---  
I rolled over and stretched out my arm, disappointed when my hand landed against the pillow instead of in Gerard's hair. Wrinkling my nose, I forced my eyes open. There were wrinkly blankets and the room was dark, but Gerard was no where to be found. I figured he was in the bathroom, or something, but then again the pillow my hand had fallen on was cold and the bedroom door was shut, and he always left it cracked if he got up in the middle of the night.  
"Gerard?" I said, not loud, asking like maybe he was hiding under the bed.  
I sat up and frowned, because he didn't answer and the apartment was silent, like, creepy-dead silent.  
"Gerard," I said, louder, loud enough that he would hear me if he were in the other room. I was just met with the creepy-dead silence so I started feeling fidgety. I was too tired to really be scared or freaked out or anything, though, so the feeling settled in my stomach was more annoyed than anything else.  
I swung my legs out of the bed and curled my toes against the carpet because fuck, it was cold.  
"Gerard?" I said, walking out into the living room, slow due to lack of sleep, squinting in the dark.  
The light in the kitchen was on so I migrated there like a moth, blinking around in confusion when he wasn't, like, sitting on the counter drinking coffee how I expected. I rubbed my eye with the back of my hand, looking at the clock on the stove. Fucking four in the morning, what the fuck? As soon as I figured out where Gerard was, I was going to hit him.  
There was an empy coffee mug with an unlit cigarette on the counter, a piece of paper folded inside. I sighed and reached for the paper because Gerard could be a fucking dumbass sometimes and he'd probably had a nightmare and run off to his mom's house because he thought it would freak me out, or something. Or maybe there had been an emergency with his mom or Mikey, but wouldn't he wake me for that?  
The note answered all the questions, though. /Grandma's birthday. Graveyard. Breakfast on counter. Love, G./  
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I wasn't doubting him, or anything, I knew anything involving his grandma was a big deal, but couldn't he have waited until a normal time to leave?  
I reached for the cigarette, too lazy to make coffee, and walked into the living room, my feet sounding loud in the empty house. There was an ashtray on a little table next to the couch, and my lighter and my cellphone and another note from Gerard. /Cellphone is off, don't bother calling. Home before noon. Love, G./  
I rolled my eyes and lit my cigarette, picking up my cellphone, because of course the dumbass had left me a voicemail, too. Waking me up and telling me what was going on would've been, like, ten times easier.  
His voice sounded shaky, though, when I listened to the message, and that softened the annoyance. "Hey Frankie, sorry I didn't wake you up." There was a pause and he sighed. "I didn't want to worry you, I figured if I just went ahead and left you'd be pissed off instead." I almost laughed, he knew me way too well. "But, yeah. Grandma's birthday was- is? I don't know. But, like, today. I wanted to get to the cemetery before anyone else so I could be alone. I may or may not have, uh." He sort of chuckled. "Jumped the fence? But, whatever. I'm here and I'll be home soon. I'm turning off my phone, though, so- so I'll talk to you when I get home, okay?" There was a pause and then he said, "Okay. I love you, Frankie."  
I sat my phone down and considered trying to call him, anyway, just to be an annoying shit, but I ended up calling Mikey instead. It took two calls and a million rings before he finally answered, "Huh?"  
"Hey Mikey," I said, sounding way more awake than I felt.  
He groaned and sounded like he was rolling over. "It's not even five, man, what the fuck?"  
"I woke up and Gerard was gone," I said, and he went quiet.  
His voice was eerily awake when he spoke next. "He was gone?"  
"Don't freak out," I said. "He's at the cemetery."  
Mikey paused and I heard some fumbling noises, he was probably putting on his glasses. "Today is Tuesday, isn't it?"  
I nodded but realized he couldn't see me. "Yeah."  
He took a deep breath. "Asshole was supposed to go with Ma and I at noon."  
"He said he'd be /home/ at noon," I sighed.  
Mikey sort of grumbled for a second, dropping a few profanities. "I'm gonna' call him, can I call you back in a minute?"  
"Don't bother, his phone is off."  
Mikey sighed. "Fuck him."  
"Yeah," I agreed. "Fuck him."  
"Okay, well." He paused. "I'm gonna' go back to sleep, call me when he gets home."  
"Okay," I said. "Hey, uh- dude, before you go. Have you talked to Pete recently?"  
"Uh, yeah. Why?"  
"Just asking," I said, and sort of grinned. "What's goin' on there, man? Gerard and I were talking about it last week."  
"Nothing is going on," Mikey huffed, but I could totally tell he was smiling. "But yeah, we watched Night of the Living Dead last night."  
"Last /night?/" I said. "Dude- /dude./"  
Mikey sort of laughed. "He's like, three years older than me, shut up. Nothing happened, it's not like we slept together, or anything. He crashed on the sofa."  
"Wait, he's still there?"  
"Yeah," Mikey said. "We talked a lot yesterday about, like, where we wanted to go with whatever."  
"You mean, relationship-wise?"  
"Yeah."  
"What decision did you guys make?"  
"Well, once he's eighteen everything would be, like, totally illegal. So we're just gonna' stay friends until we can work out something."  
I sucked in on my cigarette. "Just friends, huh?"  
"Just friends," Mikey confirmed. "Who sometimes, like, kiss and stuff."  
I grinned. "Wait, have you guys kissed again?"  
"Three times," he said. "Fucking /three times,/ Frank."  
"So, you're like boyfriends, but not called boyfriends."  
Mikey giggled, fucking /giggled,/ a sweet, Gerard-type giggle. "Yeah, boyfriends but not called boyfriends. Not until I'm eighteen."  
"I'm happy for you guys, man," I said. "Pete is a sweet dude and so are you."  
"Yeah," Mikey said, and he sounded like he was glowing.  
"What does your mom think about all this?"  
"I think she's cool with it. I mean, she doesn't like Pete as much as she likes you- she worships you, man- but she hasn't questioned it much yet. I'm kind of worried about what Gerard will say, though. I know he's not really the biggest fan of Pete."  
"He'll be cool with it," I promised. "I'm pretty sure you guys have his metaphorical blessing. But speaking of Gee, where's the, uh, cemetery at?"  
"It's the one downtown," he said, after some hesitation. "At the church with the big flowers outside."  
I wrinkled my nose. "The one with the stained glass cross on the side?"  
"Yeah, yeah. That one. Are you gonna' go look for him, or something?"  
"Yeah," I said.  
"Tell him I say he's an asshole and that I love him."  
I laughed. "I love your use of profanity."  
"Well, I got it from you. You're a bad influence."  
"Damn right I am."  
I was ninety-nine percent sure he was rolling his eyes.  
"I'll call you back when I can," I said. "Get some rest and tell Pete I say hey."  
"Okay. Bye, Frank."  
"Bye, Mikey."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One - Gerard's POV

You could tell a lot about a person by seeing how they act in a cemetery. You could tell a lot more if you actually, y'know, talked to them, but cemeteries held a lot of secrets. They were private but annoyingly open in nature- they were raw, upsetting places to be. People cried there, they got angry. Cemeteries were extremely honest, though, so I guess that's what I liked about them. The names and dates on the tombstones didn't lie.  
Where my grandma was buried wasn't the nicest place. The grass was unruly, so long it looked tangled in places. The hills seemed to slump with the weight of all the grieving that went on between the old iron fences. The entire place looked tired. Tired and sad and very much alone. It was dark out, it was four thirty in the fucking morning, but it wasn't eerie or anything. I'd never been afraid of graveyards, I found their atmosphere calming. No matter who we were or what we had done or how we had died, we still ended up buried with polished stones like crowns above our heads. All living creatures are equals in the end and I guess I found that comforting, because no matter how terrible of a person I felt I sometimes was, when I was dead no one would have to put up with that anymore. I would just be another patch of grass with a granite crown.  
"I would've brought coffee," I said to the gray stone in front of me. "I know it's probably weird seeing me without any." My crown metaphor felt nice, I'd always tried to treat my grandmother like a queen and knowing I could still do that made things feel sort of okay again. "But it would've been cold by the time I got here. I was gonna' make some for Frank, too, but I figured it would've stressed him out if I'd woken him up."  
It was dark and I felt kind of dumb, talking to a dead woman.  
"It's awfully quiet this morning," I told her. "Like the whole world is asleep, or something."  
I sat down in the grass, it was dry and the ground was hard. It was weird to think that my grandma was in a box six feet beneath me and the thought made my hands tremble.  
"I'll be okay," I said, but we both knew I was lying.  
I shoved a hand through my hair, trying to give my fingers something to do besides shake. I felt curled up, like a scared child hiding in the corner. I had my feet flat on the ground, my chin resting on my knees, my thighs pulled up as close to my chest as I could get them.  
"I wish you were here. You'd love the weather."  
I titled my head back and looked at the sky. It was dark out, there were still stars in the sky.  
"I used to think maybe I just have seasonal depression but it's summer and I'm still sad."  
She would've put a hand on my shoulder, right then, if she had been there.  
"I mean, things are better with Frank around, y'know?" I sighed and looked at my knees. "I'm not, uh, counting. Not as much as I used to." I counted to seventeen in my head just because I was thinking about it and that made me want to punch myself in the face. "And I'm eating more too, I guess. I mean, you used to always complain about how skinny I was, how you wish there were more of me for you to love. I've been thinking lately, maybe you- maybe you were right, y'know?" I scratched the back of my neck, frowning. "I don't think Frank likes it when I skip meals. He likes, like, sitting at the table together, and that type of stuff. Or just laying on the couch and eating chips. He treats it like a social activity, or something, I think he gets offended when I don't want to eat in front of him." I rested my chin on my knees and sighed again. "We're practically engaged but sometimes I'm still paranoid that he's not attracted to me. I don't want him to see me eating and start to think I'm fat or a slob or gross or whatever." My eyes were burning from staring at my grandmother's grave so I blinked until they watered. "But I'm trying, as much as I can. For him. We're more or less done moving everything into the apartment and it's been really nice with just the two of us, but it's scary. I always feel like I'm going to fuck up everything. We're both so young. Frank still- he still gets beat up by people he goes to school with. Sometimes I feel like we're a really pathetic couple. He's seventeen, has constant mood swings, and still has bullies. I'm eighteen, hate myself, and don't know what I want to do with my life. It's fucking sad."  
I stretched my legs out on the ground and sighed for what felt like a millionth time, putting one hand on either side of my hips so I could shift my body weight, wincing because my leg had fallen asleep. I wiggled my ankle to try and get some of the feeling back.  
"I don't want to get a real job, I don't want to get stuck doing something I hate. I've always sort of wanted to travel, I guess, but I don't know if Frank would be into that or not. I think I could spend the rest of my life just traveling and drawing people and places I come across." Then I laughed at myself, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, that's dumb, I know. I don't even know if Frank likes to travel or not. But you always told me to do what I love with who I love, y'know? And you always said that if you don't travel it's an insult to the earth."  
My vision went blurry and I realized that just thinking about my grandma made me want to cry- just thinking about her making Mikey and I breakfast and telling us about growing up and falling in love and getting through life without wanting to quit.  
"I'm an adult," I said, wiping the back of my hand across my cheek even though no actual tears had fallen. "I just got my first job and it's at a stupid comic book store. I already know who I want to marry, but the rest of it is a huge fucking blur. You made everything seem so easy. You never divorced, you raised good kids. You taught your grandkids more than school ever did." I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair, twisting black strands tight around my fingers. "Fuck, Elena, I miss you."  
Everything was silent until someone said, "That's really bad for your hair, you know."  
I sort of jumped, looking up and behind me. The boy standing there was looking at me and giving a half-smile, flicking his own hair out of his face. He had on skinny jeans and a hoodie twice his size, and his smile wasn't real because the skin near his eyes didn't crinkle up like I knew it should, but that didn't stop him from being the prettiest thing I had seen all day.  
"The twisting isn't healthy," he explained, like I didn't already know that. He pointed a finger up and made a swirling motion. "It's like twisting the stem of a flower, y'know?"  
"Yeah," I said. "I know." I turned back to the tombstone and rested my chin on my knees again.  
"You mind company?" he asked.  
I shrugged. "I guess not. How long have you been here?"  
He was just a shadow as he sat next to me, saying, "Long enough to hear you to say things are better with me around."  
"Oh," I said, soft, not looking at him. "You must've woken up right after I left, then. I wasn't here long before you got here." I had my eyes focused on the gray granite in front of us. The boy reached over with slim fingers and slipped hair away from my face and off of my forehead, tucking it behind my ears.  
He asked something but I wasn't paying attention, so I said, "What?"  
"Why're you here?" he repeated, sort of sighing like he was annoyed with me. "It's the middle of the night."  
"Well. I wanted to be alone."  
"Oh." He hesitated before asking, "Do you want me to go, then?"  
I shook my head and looked at him, his watercolor-hazel eyes were staring at me like I was a puzzle. His eyes were mud brown and grass green, like colored raindrops had fallen on his face and stained them.  
"Why'd you follow me?"  
He shrugged. "I don't like being alone."  
He produced a cigarette from somewhere, and a lighter, too, and held the stick of nicotine out to me. "Here." I slipped the cigarette between my lips, the flavor dirty and papery, not quite like fire when unlit.  
He raised the lighter for me and I leaned my neck forward, letting the flame catch, and then we sat in silence for a while, me sucking in on the cigarette and trying not to cry, him watching me smoke.  
I took the cigarette out of my mouth with two fingers, saying, "Frank?"  
His name was sweet, like kissing, and I liked the amount of effort it took to say. It was like loving him, the way it made my throat tense up, the way it clicked right and solid in my mouth. It was familiar like a favorite book, it tasted like smoke and coffee and like his skin. His name was a memory that was hard to recall, though, I loved how it had never become just a subconscious thing in the back of my mind. It was never easy to say like I'd once hoped it would be, it took effort. He took effort, loving him was hard and I wasn't going to lie about that, because sometimes I wondered why either of us had stuck around this long. But saying his name felt like home, and he felt like home.  
I hoped I felt like home to him, too.  
"Huh?"  
"Thank you for coming," I said. "She would've wanted to, uh, meet you."  
He leaned over and kissed my cheek, his mouth warm and soft. "I figured you'd want some company. I know you don't like being alone when you're sad, no matter how much you try to lie about it."  
I nodded, sighing. "This has gotten to the point where you know me better than I know myself."  
His head rested on my shoulder. "Well, I love you," he said, like that should explain it. "Y'know?"  
"Yeah, I know." I turned my face and pressed my nose against his hair, he was warm and smelt like the cigarette that was in my hand. "Elena would've loved you."  
"You think so?"  
I nodded. "She would've appreciated how stubborn you can be sometimes. She was like that, too. Really insistent, but not forceful or anything."  
Frank looked at the tombstone and sort of chuckled. "Here this asshole calling us stubborn, Elena? He needs a reality check, he's more stubborn than the both of us combined."  
I sucked in on my cigarette and tried not to smile. "Like I said, she would've loved you."  
It made my chest feel heavy to think about my grandmother not being around anymore, but there was a weird sense of comfort with Frank sitting so close to my side.  
"Do you think emotions can be reincarnated?" I asked. "Without a birth being involved?"  
"Emotional reincarnation? What?"  
"Well, like." I frowned. Frank was looking at me with his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "I don't know how to explain this without sounding weird."  
"Just go for it," he said. "It won't be weird."  
"When I was with my grandma there was always this sense of belonging." Frank's fingers brushed up against mine. "She gave off this- this vibe, almost. I would be mid-panic-attack and she was always the only one who could talk me down from it."  
"I get that," Frank said, nodding. "But reincarnation?"  
I couldn't look at him. "She died right after I met you. That night. Four hours after I got home."  
He didn't say anything. Even though we both knew that, it was still shitty to think about.  
"I keep, like, trying to blame God for it," I said. Knowing Frank wasn't religious made me feel stupid for even bringing up the topic but I felt like I was going to cry and if I didn't get out the theory then I probably never would. "I met someone that I eventually fell in love with the same night my grandma died? It seems too- too fucking planned, y'know? That you make me feel safe, like she did."  
He held my hand. "You're crying," he said, soft, kissing a wet spot on my cheek, lips like wingtips on my skin. Sometimes I felt like the butterfly theory must be real, like the beating of one butterfly's wings really could start a hurricane. Frank was my butterfly, and I was his storm. He was the sole cause of the chaos in my head. "It's okay, Gee."  
I smushed my cigarette into the ground and wiped at my face with the back of my free hand. "I felt really guilty," I told Frank, squeezing his fingers. "I feel guilty all the time because I wanted a replacement, for whatever she had been to me emotionally. Someone who I could just talk to, y'know? I never admitted to myself that that's why I got so insistent on being your friend after that first day, I think part of me knew that if I could just get close to you, you could- you could be that type of replacement, sort of. Part of me knew that you could, uh. Fix me."  
But he hadn't fixed me, had he? I was still pretty fucked up. He was, too, though, so I guess maybe that's what love was. Not fixing someone, but living in a mutual state of acceptance.  
His thumb moved down the side of my hand, soft and slow.  
"The more I got to know you the easier it got to talk to you. And I started to want you, but I was so selfish about it. I've always felt like a bitch for forcing that on you."  
"You didn't force it," he said, his hand that wasn't holding mine pushing hair off of my forehead.  
"But I was so selfish about it," I said again. "There were moments when I knew you could be happier somewhere else, or times when I knew I was trying to push things too far, but I kept trying because I knew that you were what I wanted."  
"Well, I'm glad you kept trying."  
"Yeah, I am too. But what I guess I'm asking is, do you think when someone dies, the sense of comfort- or whatever other emotions they gave you- can be sort of reincarnated in someone else? Even if that someone else is already alive?"  
Frank tilted his head, thinking about it. "Like a passing of emotional energy?"  
I nodded. "Yeah, exactly like that."  
"Well, you know I don't believe in God and stuff, so." He frowned. "I think people can make you feel the same sorts of things. Like, you can get the same chemical reaction off more than one person, scientifically, but on a more basic level two people can't ever be the same to you." He paused, looking at my hand in his, and then said, "Because even though you associate both your grandma and I with comfort and safety, or whatever, emotionally it's totally different, because she was there first and she was family. The conversations you had with her about life and whatnot might've been way deeper or maybe even more honest than the ones you've had with me, since it was a blood relation. The things you talk about with family just aren't the same types of things you talk about with a significant other I don't think the feelings were passed on so much as, like, inspired. Does that make sense?"  
I didn't answer for a few seconds, nodding and thinking about all of that. "Yeah. But it's weird to think that feelings are all just chemical reactions."  
Frank shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "Most things can be explained with science, man."  
I shrugged, too. "It's nice to think that there's someone watching out for you, though." Frank's palm was smooth against my hand. "Heaven and hell and purgatory, and whatnot. Like a fucked up form of karma. Everyone gets what they deserve in the end."  
Frank poked his nose against my jaw, pressing a chaste kiss against my neck. "I remember you telling me your theories about all that," he said. "It feels like a million years ago. Do you still think all that stuff? Life is purgatory and we choose if we're in heaven or hell?"  
"Sometimes I think maybe it's just never-ending purgatory," I confessed. "And I've never believed in an afterlife, so sometimes the whole 'God' thing can get a little sketchy. But what is there to keep us in moral check if we don't all have personal heavens and hells?"  
"Well, I'd like to believe you're a personal heaven, for me," Frank said, soft, his face still close to my neck. "A metaphorical nirvana."  
"Metaphorical nirvana," I echoed. "That sounds a lot cooler than 'heaven.' What's hell, then?"  
He was quiet for a moment, thinking about it, and then he said, "Loneliness and jealousy. Since those two sort of go hand-in-hand. When you're alone it hurts like fucking hell, and knowing there are people out there having the types of connections that you don't just makes it worse."  
His head settled against the crook of my shoulder so I let my cheek rest on top of his head, looking at my grandma's name carved in stone and saying, "I'm glad I'm in metaphorical nirvana with you."  
"Yeah," he agreed. "I never want to go back to being lonely."  
"You won't have to," I promised him, putting my arm across his shoulders. "I won't let that happen."  
I could hear his breathing, soft and slow, his skin warm against mine.  
"When we get married," he said, quietly, "Will it be indoors or outdoors?"  
I considered for a moment and then said, "It depends on the weather, I guess."  
He nuzzled his face against my neck. "I was thinking October," he said. "A few weeks before my birthday, or something. The weather is always so nice then."  
"You'll be in school," I reminded him.  
"It doesn't have to be this October. It can be any October."  
"Any October?"  
"In a few years," he explained. "I don't think I want to go to college. But maybe after I've gotten a job, or something."  
His hair brushed soft against my jaw. I sort of wanted to comment on the college thing, because Frank was a smart kid and he shouldn't waste that. Maybe we could sit down one day and talk about the options. There had to be some type of photography classes he could take, right?  
"The comic book store might be hiring again," I said.  
He sort of laughed. "Working at a comic book store together. We'd seem like such dorks."  
"Not the bad type of dork, though," I said. "Just the way-too-in-love-for-their-own-good type of dorks."  
"Yeah, hey, speaking of dorks in love, I talked to Mikey on the phone before I left. He seems really excited about the thing with Pete."  
"The thing with Pete," I echoed. "There's a thing with Pete? Is it, like, official now, or what?"  
"It's officially unofficial. Evidently they're a bit like boyfriends but don't want to call themselves boyfriends until Mikey is older. I told Mikey that they have your metaphorical blessing, I hope that's okay."  
I nodded. "That seems like a good way to go about it, and yeah, that's fine. They do."  
"Maybe they'll have kids one day," Frank said thoughtfully. "They'd be cute, I guess. Bass-playing, sarcastic dweebs, but cute."  
I laughed. "You seem to be forgetting that neither of them can give birth."  
Frank shrugged and grinned, and we both knew he had said it just to get me to smile. "But it's fun to think about."  
"Yeah, I guess it is. Do you think they're gonna' work out?"  
"Hopefully they do. I'm seeing some serious double dating in our future."  
"Oh, gosh." I scrunched up my nose. "Double dating with my little brother and a kid who kissed my boyfriend. Seriously?"  
Frank rolled eyes, bumping his shoulder against mine. "Okay, okay, yeah. It doesn't sound that great when you say it like that. But dude, seriously, double dating. Dating. Dates."  
I rolled my eyes, too, bumping my shoulder back against his. "I know, I know. We don't have enough date nights."  
Frank pouted. "We're, like, the lamest couple ever. We never do anything except for fuck and eat."  
"Fuck, sleep, eat, and smoke," I corrected.  
He sort of snuggled in closer against my side. "Yeah," he said, happy with my answer. "I think my favorite two are fucking and eating."  
"I like the other two, too, though."  
"But, like. Sex and food."  
"Well, yeah. Yeah, sex and food, too."  
"Food," Frank echoed, nodding. "You and food."  
I looked away. "You heard what I was saying earlier, I guess? About eating?"  
"I'm proud of you," he said. "Okay? Any type of progress is progress."  
"Progress towards what, though?" Progress towards gaining weight? Was that really a good thing?  
"Progress towards being healthy," Frank told me. "One day we're going to sit down and have an entire meal together and you'll see what I mean."  
"We've had entire meals together."  
"Not without you getting that look, though."  
"What look?"  
"Y'know." He lifted a hand to my face and touched my nose. "Frustrated and like you want to puke."  
"Eating doesn't make me want to puke. Not all the time."  
He sighed so I kissed the side of his head. "Don't worry about me, Frank. I'm getting better. You know that."  
"Yeah, I know that. I wish you didn't have to, though. I wish it could just happen. I wish we could just wake up one morning, and- and everything would be okay."  
I moved my thumb across his hand. "We're getting there, babydoll."  
"We're getting there," he agreed. Frank kissed my cheek. "We should go," he said. "Before someone realizes two idiot kids jumped the fence."  
I kissed his cheek, too, standing up and pulling him with me. "Yeah, we should probably head home."  
Frank still had my hand, but I reached my free one out to touch the smooth top of my grandmother's tombstone. "Bye, Elena," I said. "We'll come visit again soon."  
Frank's hand slid away from mine so he could light a cigarette, taking a drag from it and looking at the slab of granite in front of us. "Elena Lee Rush," he read. He looked at me and said, "If we ever adopt a kid I think Lee would be a nice middle name."  
"I like that idea."  
We shared the cigarette, taking turns sucking the smoke into our lungs. "She'd be proud of you," Frank said, looking at me. "Of who you're turning out to be."  
His hand found my skin again as we started walking away from my grandma's grave and towards the iron gates of the cemetery, his fingers slipping down my wrist and over my hand.  
I passed him the cigarette, breathing out smoke. "I haven't really accomplished much, though."  
Frank shrugged. We stood next to the fence. "You've made my life a lot better. Pete's, too. And, dude, Mikey is turning out to be pretty cool, and I know that's because you're his big brother."  
I rolled my eyes. "None of that is because of me."  
"Yeah, it is." He was standing close to me, kiss-close. "Remember what I said when we first met?" I could practically taste the smoke on his breath. "I asked you what you wanted from me. You said nothing but I gave you everything, anyway." His eyelashes might as well have had stardust in them, right then, he looked so pretty. "You could've ruined me. But you gave me everything, too."  
"I didn't fix you, if that's what you're trying to say. You were never broken to begin with."  
"I know." He was so close, his skin was so close. "I know that now, yeah. No one is ever broken, but they can be lost, like I think I was. And lonely, too. I was empty and you filled in all the cold spots."  
"You won't ever have to be lonely again," I promised him again.  
He kissed me, then, soft and slow and tongue-in-mouth. My head tilted to the left because that's the side of the body that hearts are on, and I've always been a sucker for metaphors.  
"I love you, Frank," I said, lacing my fingers tighter through his.  
"I love you, too, Gerard."  
And my name sounded almost as beautiful coming from his lips as his mouth tasted against mine.


End file.
